Shit Gets Worse
by PartSpace
Summary: Kirkwall's favorite son returns home, where a new set of problems are left in the wake of the Inquisition: assassins, smugglers, red lyrium, and a choir boy invader.
1. Chapter 1

They say you can never go home again.

They also say never start a story with a cheesy, worn out cliche, but if the shoe fits...

I don't know what I expected. It sounded great in my head. Go back to Kirkwall. Go home and help clean up this big dirty mess I had a hand in creating. I know what Hawke would say. It's not your fault, Varric. You had nothing to do with it. Bartrand made his choice, as did Meredith. They are the reason the red lyrium got out, nothing could have stopped it.

But still. I was there. I could have done more.

Of course, none of that matters now. The past is passed. It's time to focus on the now, which is still pretty fouled up.

Getting into Kirkwall was no small feat, either. It took far too much coin and cashing in far too many favors. I even accepted some help from the Inquisitor, though after I got the full picture of everything that happened, after what the Inquisition did in Kirkwall... I was hesitant to accept it.

The ends justify the means, right, Herald?

The Kirkwall docks smell the same at least. Dead fish, fresh pitch, and stale vomit. A whiff of home. But everything else is different. The docks should be teeming with people this early in the day, bringing in the day's catch and the latest trade. But the ship from Orlais simply dropped me off and was just as eager to leave.

This is a city teetering on the edge. And here I am, thinking I can do a damn thing to save it. One man with some connections, some coin, and one very special crossbow.

Shit. I don't even know where to begin. On instinct, my head turns to the direction of the Hanged Man. If my favorite tavern is still here, there might be some hope for this hell hole. My steps hesitate and I shift the weight of my pack on my back.

I've got this feeling I'm forgetting something. Is it shaving? I haven't shaved in a few days. A straight razor and a rocking boat make me a bit nervous. I almost look like a genuine Orzammar dwarf. The pace this thing is growing in, it'll be long enough to braid by sunset.

No, that's not it. What am I forgetting...?

"There's so much here..." It's a faint voice. Distant and dreamy. I glance over my shoulder to see a skinny blond human, just a kid, standing a few yards from me, wringing his hands and staring up at the cloud filled sky. His head turns and we meet eyes.

Who-... I wince at myself. "Kid." Cole. Dammit.

He lifts his chin slightly, and the ghost of a smile appears on his pale face. "You remember."

Did I bring him along? I don't remember. I don't think so. No. No, I didn't. "Kid, I thought you were going to stay in Skyhold."

Cole shakes his head, shuffling steps taking him closer to me. "You said that I had freedom now. You said that I could do whatever I wanted to. And I said-"

"That you wanted to help," I say in an exhale.

I was packing up my things. Not a lot of things, I travel light. And the kid just appeared, like he does.

"You're leaving, Varric," he'd said, perched on the edge of a dresser with his feet dangled over the edge and his heels idly kicking the drawers.

"Yeah, Kid, I'm leaving," I said.

"Solas is gone, too."

"Yeah, I know."

"You think... that there isn't anything more you can do to help here."

I twisted my lips to the side and turned back to the dresser to fish out a pair of socks Daisy knitted for me. "I think I could be of more help in Kirkwall. I only joined the Inquisition because-"

"Because you were kidnapped," the kid said. He sounded proud of himself for remembering.

"Yes," I answered slowly. "And because it was something of an immediate threat. Look, Kirkwall is my home. I feel like I've abandoned it. It needs a lot of help."

"Solas is gone, too."

I lifted my head and squinted my eyes at him. His head was tilted so that his broad brimmed hat hid his eyes. "What are you getting at, Kid?"

"The Iron Bull thinks that I am a demon. Sera has to remember to call me 'it,' but she prefers to. Blackwall is to join the Wardens. Dorian is to return to Tevinter. Vivenne wants the Circle unbroken. The Inquisitor... the Inquisition, the inner circle, thin, thinner, thinking, working, forgetting. Who is that boy?"

I let out a long sigh. I think I caught what he was going for before he trailed off into spiritese. "You don't think you have any friends, and you don't know what to do with yourself."

His brim lifted a fraction, and his pale gaze met mine. "What I do is help people."

I pressed my lips together, watching him. "What you can do now is whatever you want."

"But I want to help people."

"Kid..." I stuffed the socks into my satchel and turned to face him. "You're free to do absolutely anything. You can afford to be a little selfish. Travel. Meet people. Make new friends. Eat things. Play."

Those pale, hollow eyes remained fixed on me, uncomprehending. I should have fought harder to make the kid human.

I crossed my arms and levelled a look at him. "Cole, what I want you to do is try all sorts of new things and see what makes you happy, then keep doing that. Can you promise me that?"

Those unblinking eyes remained on me a few moments more, before he dropped his head and his face was hidden by his hat brim again. "Travel," he finally said. "Meet people. Make new friends. Try new things. Be happy."

And now here he is, standing in front of me on the Kirkwall docks with a vague smile. "Travel," he says. "Meet people. Make new friends. Be happy. Are your friends still here, Varric?"

"That's not what I-"

"You're here to help." He stands a bit taller over me and rolls his shoulders back. "There's so much here. So much pain, so much I can do. Helping, healing... makes them happy. And that is what makes me happy." His eyes widen, and for a moment a shadow of fear crosses his face. "Don't send me away."

"What?" I rock back on my heels. "I'm not-... No. Kid, I'm not going to send you away. That'd be like kicking a puppy."

"I like puppies."

I let out a long slow breath. And now I have a puppy. "Right." I shift the weight of my pack onto my other shoulder and nod my head towards a flight of wide stone stairs leading out of the docks. "C'mon, Kid. Let's get a room and a drink. Hanged Man is this way."


	2. Chapter 2

"Two ales, please."

"Two? Rough day, eh, love?"

I don't recognize the bartender. She's a squat human woman, about as round as she is tall, with wiry red hair stuffed under a cotton cap and a frayed apron. Accent says Free Marcher, and she has a working woman's hands.

The bar itself, though, it mostly the same, though not as busy as it was in the old days.

I blink at her, "No, one for me and one for my friend..." I glance over my shoulder, but Cole is already gone. He's weaving between the tables and seeming to dodge the edge of my vision.

He leans over another woman who sits alone with an empty mug held between her thin hands, "Don't be afraid to fail. So much fear of failure, fixed, frozen, flinching when you see everyone else has moved on. Moving is better than standing still. It will hurt sometimes, but you can't learn how to heal until you learn how to hurt."

The woman blinks and sits up, then seems to peer right through the kid. After a moment, she leaves a handful of coins on the table and slips out the door. I wander closer, a mug in each hand. "What was that about?"

Cole stands straight, smiling faintly at the door. "Her pain was like an empty stomach, and she's afraid she'll eat something poisonous. So she doesn't eat anything, and her soul was starving."

"Riiight..." I let out a slow breath and motion to a table. "Look, can you... work on staying solid when we're together, Kid? I don't need this town thinking the other Tethras boy has lost it, too."

His gaze focuses back on me. "Lost what?"

I slide him the mug as I sit in my favorite chair at my favorite table. Hell, there's still a V+B carved in the wood grain. I run a thumb over the scar on the table and look back at the kid. "It doesn't matter. We need to get some information, get caught up on what's happening in Kirkwall. Who needs help, how we can help them. I think that's the sort of thing in your wheelhouse."

The smile is back on his skinny face, "Like the bartender and her baby. Where is her baby? He'd be fifteen by now."

I hold up a hand, "We have to think a bit bigger than that, Kid. It's great to help out one person at a time, but that's going to take a while. We need to scale up."

"Scale up," Cole repeats, and he's lost again.

"It's like this, Kid." I pause to take a sip from my mug, then wipe the foam from my face. Shit, I need a shave. I got more ale in my mustache than in my mouth. "Say we go down to Darktown and find a bunch of war orphans. You... do that shit you do, and they sleep a little better a night. But they're still sleeping on the street in rags with empty bellies. You understand?"

Cole blinks at me slowly, then pokes a finger into the foam in the mug before him. "You... think we should help with what they need and not with what they want."

"Exactly, Kid, you got it." I add a bit of encouraging cheer to my voice, but his brow knits up and a frown crosses his face. "What is it?"

"I couldn't-..." His face twists up, and his hands curl around his mug. After a moment, his hands relax and he shakes his head. "I forgot."

This is going to be a challenge. "Focus, Kid. Okay? We help the people who are the most in need of the basics. And that means money. I've got a decent amount squirreled away-"

"I like squirrels."

"... So the next step is reestablishing some contacts here to get more. I've been trying to keep abreast of who the big players are here, but shit's gotten so chaotic here since Blondie went boom that the big players seem to change daily."

His head tilts, and the brim of his hat shades his eyes. "The Carta are struggling to keep control of the gangs. Everybody wants a piece. But they are the strongest, even with that damn guard captain."

The mug of ale pauses halfway to my mouth and I feel my spine stiffen. I scan the tavern for anyone that looks like Carta. "Are... are you reading someone's mind in here, Cole?"

The hat brim tips up and he gives me a whispery smile. "Of course not, 's not pain. The dwarves at that table there were talking about it when you were getting drinks and a room." He lifts a hand to point at a table behind me.

My own hand snaps out to grab his and place it back on the table. "Good job, Kid. I mean that. That's exactly what we need to do: Listen and find out what's going on." This is what I expected. Not that Carta dwarves would be openly talking Carta business right here in the Hanged Man. They usually stuck to Darktown back in the day.

But I was expecting that after Meredith died, after the Chantry fell, after the Circle and the Templars fell, after the Viscount died, after Hawke left, after I left, and after the Seekers left... The criminal element would seep in to fill in the empty spots.

And that's why we're here.

My hand slides idly back to Bianca, and I slip her into my lap. "Okay, Cole. Now, without drawing attention to us, tell me what they are doing now?"

Cole blinks down at where my hand keeps his on the table. He's confused again. He knows I'm on alert, but I'm still keeping my voice light, calm, and encouraging. He leans a little to the side, looking over my shoulder. "There's five of them. They're dwarves. They have beards. You have a beard now. Nearly. They have axes and knives and a bow. They are drinking and looking at a bit of paper. The one with the black beard doesn't care about the paper, he misses his pretty husband and just wants to go home. They've had an argument and he thinks-"

"Cole."

"He thinks his husband hates him and will do something stupid. He's worried that-"

"Cole." My teeth are gritted tightly now. "Did they notice me? Recognize me? Do they look like trouble?"

"No. No. Aaand yes. They have axes and knives and a bow. One of the knives is big, like Blackwall's. He calls it Spiderfang, and-..." He trails off and sits up a bit straighter. "They are bad people, Varric."

I exhale. I'm better off not knowing what he picked up about that sword, aren't I? "They're Carta, Kid. Remember them? Helped release Corypheus? Smuggled red lyrium? Shit, the money from the red lyrium must be helping them establish Kirkwall as their territory." I lift one hand off Bianca to rub my neck. "We're going to sneak out. Probably need to find another place to stay. Dammit, I liked this bar." I take another long swig from my ale, draining half of it. "We don't want to make waves until-"

"Izzat Tethras?"

Shit.

"They noticed you. They recognize you. They still look like trouble."

Shit shit shit.

Maybe if I don't turn around... Nope. Already the bar as gone quiet, except for the squeal of chair legs on the dirty floor as the Carta dwarves get to their feet. "That IS Tethras! I'll be fucked by an Ancestor!"

I slowly get to my feet and turn to face them. Yep, five dangerous dwarves. I know three of them. Rodrum is the one to worry about. And Rodrum is the one talking, a twisted smile appearing under his filthy, poorly braided beard. They close in, and I get the feeling Cole is either gone or just looks that way.

"Rodrum!" I laugh and throw my hand up in a cheery wave. "Holy shit, how long has it been? How're the twins?" My other hand is on Bianca, who is just inching up to point at his kneecaps.

"You believe this nughumper?" Rodrum clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Do you know how many of my guys you and your mincing little mage killed back in the day?"

I used to be on good terms with the Carta. Well, "good" might be a bit strong. I'd trade my invaluable information and occasional business acumen in exchange for looking the other way when we crossed paths and Carta ended up dead. It's amazing how little value they put on the lives of their own men. There's always another duster who'll do anything to join up and get the hell out of the Orzammar slums.

But then they started trading in red lyrium, and those tenuous terms were over.

I lift a shoulder in a half shrug to Rodrum, keeping my voice light and casual. "First of all, Hawke didn't mince. Second to all, if you idiots are still smuggling the red stuff, I'm going to kill a whole lot more of you."

There's the sound of singing steel, and suddenly I'm getting a very up close and personal introduction to Spiderfang. The point is inches from my throat, and the other, less pointy end is held fast in Rodrum's beefy first. Bianca is getting eager. "Is that so? How you going to manage that?"

I grin and take in another breath to answer with a very well crafted smart-ass response, when Cole, wherever he is, says "Knock knock."

Suddenly, there's a loud bang. The door to the Hanged Man swings open, and everyone in the bar jumps in alarm. A loud, clear voice calls out, "City guard! You there, drop your weapons, now!"

When a Carta dwarf hears those words, they do this funny thing. They ignore it. Spiderfang thrusts forward, I step back, Biana jumps up, and Cole materializes in the center of the Carta band.

Biana lets her own opinion known, loud and wet. Rodrum gets a bolt through his remaining eye, and a dagger in his back, courtesy of the kid. I glance to the door long enough to catch sight of another familiar face, this one much more welcome. My old friend is leaping into the fray now, still shouting out orders that are still ignored. The barmaid, who apparently was smart enough to run and get a guard when she saw the dwarves take notice of me, is also smart enough to press herself back against the wall and out of the way.

Me, I'm scrambling backwards, kicking over a table for some cover. Bianca, meanwhile, is eager to stay in the fight. One bolt after another lets loose, striking one Carta dwarf after another. I see glimpses of Cole, moving effortlessly between them, his dagger slitting a bearded throat here, taking off an ear there.

My heroic Kirkwall city guard smashes a shield into one of the dwarves moving forward with an axe. That same dwarf gets a sword in his shoulder.

It's a quick, dirty, messy battle. My favorite kind. Five Carta lay on the dirty bar floor. Bianca, satiated, slips back into her spot on my back.

"Varric."

"Guardsman Donnic." I let out a long breath.

"Are you... sporting a beard?" The guardsman slides his sword back into its sheathe, a small smile on his face. I don't know how long it's been since I've seen him, but the time hasn't been kind. Scars trace his cheek. One of his ears is pink and pockmarked from burns. And he's sporting a new eyepatch.

I flash a smile and motion to my chin, "The dwarven version of a five o'clock shadow."

"You didn't say 'Who's there?' The answer was, 'the City Guard." Cole is back at my side, his daggers still wet with blood.

"The missus was just wondering the other day if you'd ever make it back. How did you get into the city? You should have let us know you were coming."

I wince at the question and spread my hands, "Inquisition help."

Donnic's good humor slowly melts away. "Are you here for the Inquisition?"

"Absolutely not." I glance over the fallen dwarves. "I'm here for Kirkwall."

Donnic watches me a few moments longer, his hand resting on his pommel in a way that isn't entirely casual. He looks over the bodies as well, then sighs. He calls out to the barmaid, "We'll have someone come along and clean this up, Gina. Sorry for the mess." He turns his attention back on me, expression stern. "The guard captain will want to see you. Come along."

"Varric is my friend," Cole says, and Donnic looks up, seeming to notice him for the first time.

Donnic's suspicious gaze runs over Cole as well. "I suspect the guard captain will want to speak to you as well. Please make it voluntary."

I shrug, scoop up my satchel, hitch up my pants, and turn to Donnic. "I like to think the Seekers turned me into quite the volunteer. Lead the way, Donnic. Aveline is exactly who I want to see right now."


	3. Chapter 3

North of the docks, north of the Hanged Man and Lowtown, and above Darktown is Hightown. As we march up staircase after staircase, the sights get a bit nicer, the smells a bit better. But not much. Hightown used to be a the shiniest spot in Kirkwall. Even the rats had silky coats and pink ribbons around their necks.

This... is not the Hightown I remember. Some buildings are crumbling, damaged by war and magic. Others have been burned away to ash. And along the north, just past the Viscount's Keep, is a large, hastily built barricade, pieced together by whatever they could find. Bricks, plaster, logs, wagons, bits of boats. Hightown is sliced in two by that wall, and I know what it's keeping out.

I follow Donnic, and Cole follows me, occasionally pointing out landmarks and asking questions about events he's either gotten from my books or my head. "Was that the Chantry? Is that where Hawke lived? Was this where your mother worked?"

I answer quickly, and in a low voice. Donnic wasn't happy to hear the Inquisition helped me out, not after what they did to Kirkwall. Can't say I was happy, either. But that's why I'm here.

Soldiers mill about the Keep, and inside. We're led through, steered to the right, down a flight of stairs, and into the guard's barracks. I'm quick to cast a glance to the left, where the Viscount would reside. I've heard a few different rumors about who's taken over, but I'd rather hear the truth from Aveline.

Donnic knocks on her large office door. One-two, one-two. Probably some secret cutesy husband and wife code. Her voice calls out, "Enter!" And enter we do.

Guard Captain Aveline Vallen looks better than her husband, but not by much. Her red hair is longer and worn in a braid. New scars trace her cheek, one across her strong jaw. She's got both her eyes, at least, but it looks like the last two fingers on her sword hand are gone. Her office looks exactly the same. She's bent over her desk, scanning a map. An elven woman stands nearby, wearing robes and an unmistakable sunburst brand in the center of her head.

Why does Aveline have a Tranquil here?

Aveline straightens, her armor settling into place as she stands tall. She looks down at me, and her brows pull together. "What in the Maker's name is on your face?"

I let out a long sigh, "Give me a wash basin and a mirror and I'm more than happy to remove it, I promise."

A smirk appears on her freckled face, briefly, and she steps around her desk to lean back against the edge. "I want to say it's good to see you, Varric... but." She exhales, and she hangs her head, looking ten years older instead of one. "Manners," she says, eager to avoid the bronto in the room. She motions to her Tranquil. "Ibany, this is Varric Tethras. Varric, Ibany. She's become something of an assistant after the Circle fell."

Ibany turns to look at me with those calm, empty Tranquil eyes. I'm not going to lie. Tranquil have always creeped me out. Dwarves don't have a connection with the Fade, either, but we aren't all emotionless and neutral. And creepy. Well, most of us aren't.

"The Guard Captain has been very kind to me," Ibany says in the typical Tranquil monotone. "Very few mages and even fewer Tranquil have been so lucky. I greet you, Messire Tethras."

I glance over my shoulder to make sure Cole is still there. He is, creeping closer to Aveline with a curious expression. She, of course, hasn't noticed him. I reach out to take the kid by the hand and pull him closer to me. "And this is Cole. Say hi to the nice ladies, Cole."

Aveline gives a start, and her hand drops to her sword. Of course she didn't spot him. Even Donnic looks surprised at the sudden appearance of a skinny blond boy. Guess he forgot he was here.

"Hello," says Cole, lifting a hand in a little wave.

"Cole's a friend. Explaining more than that will need a bottle of something strong," I shake my head at Aveline's confused expression.

"She reminds me of Evangeline. Even the names are alike... Evangeline, Aveline... Evaveline... Avengaline... Avava... Avavangeline..."

"He does that..." I clear my throat, release his hand, and step closer to Aveline. "Look. Let's just lay all our cards on the table, all right? Yes, I was working with the Inquisition."

Aveline's gaze refocuses on me. "Willingly? Weren't you their prisoner?"

"Originally, yes." I look between the Tranquil, Donnic, and Cole. "Hey, Kid, why don't you see if you can find me that washbasin and mirror I was talking about, huh? It would be a big help."

Cole looks down at me. "I like to help. And you want your face back. You think you look too much like your brother, and that hurts."

I wince slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, Kid. Why don't you run and do that for me, huh?"

I can feel Aveline's eyes on me. "Donnic, Ibany, can you give us a moment, please?"

Donnic eyeballs Bianca warily, but nods. The door finally closes, and we're alone.

The Guard Captain motions to a chair that isn't filled with stacks of paperwork. "Does the Inquisition always play both sides?"

I pull the chair closer to her desk and hop up into it. My neck gets sore staring up at all the humans. "They were playing to win the fight with Corypheus, Aveline."

She crosses her big, muscular arms and stares at a crack in the wall. "And now?"

"Now I don't know. I'm here."

She turns her head to look at me again. I've been writing the version of Aveline in my books too soft, haven't I? The woman here is a whole lot harder. Or maybe this past year has changed her more than I'd hoped. "We have a wall," she says at last. "It's keeping Starkhaven out for now, but it won't last. We fell back on the suggestion of Inquisition agents. We suffered no casualties in Sebastian's attack, but we did lose half of Hightown to Starkhaven." Her lips tighten, "And then we receive word that the good Prince has voiced his appreciation for Inquisition aid in his attempts to annex Kirkwall, and will be lending his support to them." Her eyes narrow on me. "So you can see how we might feel a bit played here, dwarf."

Hawke spared Anders. He could have killed him for blowing up the Chantry. Maker help me, I would have. But not Hawke. Sebastian, furious that the mage had been spared, promised to return to Kirkwall with a full compliment of soldiers.

A promise he kept.

I shake my head, "I wasn't privy to this plan-"

"Don't give me that."

I lean forward in my chair, "They had all their meetings in this little room. I wasn't invited. I'm not happy about it, either. I'm not happy about a lot of what she did."

Aveline watches me, her eyes cool. "These heroes fight all the good fights, and people like you and me are left to clean up the messes left in their wakes."

"You don't mean Hawke."

"Hawke left. You left. Everyone left. The Chantry is left in literal pieces, bodies everywhere. And no one interested in restoring order. But we stayed behind. And our reward for attempting to bring Kirkwall back from the brink? A war at our gates spurred by that fool Anders and Carta all over the Gallows." Her hand sweeps through the air in an angry motion. "Viscount Bran has even up and joined Starkhaven. Maker take him, he never wanted the position. Handing the city over to the Prince would relieve him of his duty and put him in the pocket of a very powerful man, which is exactly where he wants to be."

So the old Seneshal is the Viscount after all. Peachy. I put my hands up, voice calm and soothing. "You're right. It's not fair. But you and I both know it never was. That Kirkwall's stayed upright for as long as it did is a damn miracle. A damn miracle that we owe in large part to you."

Her eyes roll, and she pushes herself away from the desk to stalk back behind it. "I'm in no mood for flattery, Varric."

"It's not flattery, it's true!" I let out a slow breath and breach the next topic, the one that caught my attention, carefully. "What's in the Gallows?"

Her arms cross. "Red lyrium."

I let out a hiss and hang my head. Of course there's red lyrium in the Gallows. Our last battle with Meredith. She turned into red lyrium by the end of it, and Bianca said it was alive. I can't begin to imagine how much it's spread.

I don't want to imagine what the Carta has done to encourage it to spread.

"So. We've got two problems. Sebastian wants to take over Kirkwall, and the Carta's base of red lyrium operations is in the Gallows." I click my tongue and stare up at the ceiling. "Simple."

Aveline lets out a snort. She's silent a few moments, then asks, "What will the Inquisition do now? I understand the logic of it, that a prince is a better ally than a rag-tag band of guardsmen and soldiers from a ramshackle city... but by the Maker, Varric, they said they would help us. All they did was keep us alive and give him enough of the city to keep him satisfied. Now we're here alone, sitting on our thumbs, waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"I have no idea what the Inquisition will do. I can write. Have we tried -talking- to the good Prince of Starkhaven?"

Aveline shakes her head, "We've sent envoys. He's sent them back without giving them an audience. I think Anders' head is the only peaceful way to settle this." Her lips twist down into a frown, "And he has to know he isn't here. And Hawke... he has to know about Hawke." She lifts her head to meet my gaze, "It doesn't matter. It's about Elthina. It's about vengeance now."

Vengeance. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the last time I saw Blondie. Hawke's estate. We had to leave Kirkwall in a hurry. The Templars had let us leave the Gallows, but it was probably just the courtesy of a head start.

Hawke was stuffing coins into a bag, throwing purses to his elven servant girl, to Bodan and his boy, telling them to get out of the city. Anders hovered near the stairs like a ghost. Hawke could barely look at him.

"This had to happen, Hawke. You know that," he muttered.

Hawke finally flung down one of the purses, gold coins spilling everywhere. "No. This didn't _have_ to happen. Not like this." He whirled back on Anders, while the rest of us tried to make it look like we weren't paying attention.

Anders' brow knitted up. "You don't think I considered every possibility? Every other-"

"We'll never know, will we?" Hawke hissed, leaning close into Anders' face. "You never asked me for help, not up front. No, this was all between you and that blasted demon." He stabbed a finger into the mage's chest, but Anders stood firm. "And don't feed me any more lies about him being a spirit. He's Vengeance now, you said so yourself."

Anders sucked in a breath. "This was the only way-"

Hawke stood straight, glaring at Anders. "He is a demon of Vengeance. What you did will sow more Vengeance. The Templars will strike back at the mages. For revenge, the mages will strike back. Back and forth and back and forth. Never ending. This isn't justice for the mages. It's the most spectacular and bloody cycle of Vengeance Thedas has seen. This stopped being about the mages a long time ago. The demon played you, Anders." Hawke rocked back a step, his voice cracking, "And you couldn't even come to me. My help... my everything. It was never enough for you."

Anders used to say that it was his hatred that turned Justice into a spirit of Vengeance. What was it Solas said? A spirit robbed of its purpose becomes a demon. There was never going to be any Justice for the mages. No matter what any of us did.

I open my eyes again with a soft sigh. "So you heard about Hawke."

"I received your letter," Aveline says, her voice softer.

The silence after that stretches into awkward. I sit up, "So what's with the Tranquil?"

Aveline smirks, "I should ask you-..." Her face goes blank, and she searches the room. "You brought someone, didn't you? Who...?"

And there he is, with a basin of water and a towel over his shoulder. "I found a mirror," Cole says, "But it belonged to her mother. The last piece of her she has, I couldn't take it." Cole places the basin on the edge of the desk with a proud little smile. "This will help."

Aveline gives a start, and her hand begins to lower to her sword. After a moment, she drops it back to her side. "Who is this?" She sounds like she wanted to ask, 'what is this?'

"Cole's a friend," I say again, slow and deliberate, to jog her memory. I dig into my pack for a razor. "Kid's got a gift for appearing out of no where. But he's here to help."

"Varric calls me Kid," Cole says as he gives Aveline a little smile. "I like it."

I take a moment to study my reflection in the still water of the basin. Shit. I do look like my brother.

"It's... nice to meet you, Cole. I'm Aveline."

"I know who you are," Cole says, his voice light. "Your hurt isn't your own, not anymore. It's numb and buried under the hurt of so many others. The sore arms, the sleepless nights, the screams over the wall. The wall, the wall, the wall." He pauses a beat, chin lowering. "Making the wall stronger won't help, it just makes the wait longer. What will help? I want to help... You like marigolds, like the ones he gives you, you still laugh together over the marigolds. I know where they grow, but that won't heal the hurt. The wall." He wrings his hands, unable to find a quick fix in flowers or the right words.

Aveline has slowly inched away from the kid, giving me a wide-eyed look.

When the beard is finally gone, I stand up tall, wiping my face with the white towel. I stare at it a few moments, and a plan is falling into place. One of those crazy, stupid plans that work out great in novels, but in reality? Well. I've been more lucky than usual today.

I shake out the white towel and hold it up. "You know what I need? A stick."


	4. Chapter 4

Turns out I didn't need the stick. Or the white towel. Aveline already had a white flag.

Ibany led me and Cole to the gate's edge, where a thin passage, well guarded and impossible to lead an army through, points the way to the Starkhaven camp.

This was the path taken by her unsuccessful envoys, up this twisting passage through the back alley of Hightown, tripping over rubble and debris. I peer down the alley, the morning sunlight dim, casting ominous shadows.

"The guard captain thinks it best I go with you," Ibany says, her big empty eyes fixed down on me. "I know the way, and the army knows me, and that I pose no threat."

I turn to look back up at the Tranquil, before finally turning to Cole, twisting the white flagpole in my fists. Leaving Bianca with Aveline has me antsy. Bad stuff happens when we're separated.

Cole is watching Ibany. I asked him about Tranquil last night, when we were planning.

"I met Tranquil when I was a ghost in the tower. I think I was more invisible to them, and their thoughts were invisible to me." His thin, pale hands folded blank sheets of paper over and over again. "They have no pain. No fear. No anger. There is nothing I can do for them, and they need nothing from me. They are free, but like a dandelion seed is free. They are adrift, floating free of purpose, but slave to wherever the wind takes them."

We'll unpack that another time. I reach out for Cole's hand and press the flag into it. "You remember the plan, Kid?"

Cole's eyes find on me, and his hands tighten around the pole. "The flag is my focus," he says.

I nod to him. The flag, while a sign to the Starkhaven army that we're non-combatants, will also serve Cole. A focus. Something to hold, and to keep him grounded, physical. I can't have him flitting from soldier to soldier, reciting his morbid poetry, startling the shit out of people. "That's right, Kid, you remember. Good job. And if the Prince won't see us?"

"I give you the flag and go in alone. Then I find the Prince, and I help him. He is hurting. All of this is because he's hurting." His thin fingers drum on the pole. "This is scaling up. Help one person, one important person... and many more stop hurting."

I give him a soft, genuine smile, and clap him on the arm. "Exactly, Kid. See? You're learning, just like I said you would."

It's a minor miracle we talked Aveline into letting us do this. For somewhat understandable reasons, she wasn't too keen on letting a spirit help. Or letting me sic a spirit on Sebastian.

Desperate times.

Ibany's eyes flit between the pair of us, but she keeps her opinions, if she has any, to herself. "If you are ready, Messires?" she says at last. She motions to the passage and climbs over a pair of boulders to lead the way.

Yeah, there's no way to lead troops through here. Or supplies. Or much of anything other than a small group, single file. I knew this alley. Good cut through for a cutpurse. There were businesses to the north, banks, tradesmen, guild headquarters. Slip through here to the south, hang a left, and there's a tunnel down to the Under City. Eventually the guards got wise and added this route to their patrols. But for a few years there, a much younger, much stupider dwarf made a small fortune running down this cramped alley.

On the far side of the alley there is a large, heavy door that I recognize. It used to be on the front of the bank. Ibany picks up a heavy rock and bangs out a cadence on the metal. It rings out like a bell. A voice calls out, "'Oo goes?"

"Ibany, with two other gentlemen who wish an audience with the prince."

"'Ow long is yer boss goin' to keep trying this, knife ears? The prince wants the city, or those 'oo helped the mage. Nuffin' else."

"Then run and tell him Varric Tethras wants a word with him!" I tell the bank door. "He'll know the name."

There's some murmuring on the other side of the door, then receding footfalls.

Cole stares up at the door. "I hope they let us in. I can't go in unless they let me in."

I blink over at him. "That... would have been nice to know beforehand."

The kid presses the bottom of the flag on the ground and leans on the pole. "They have dogs in there, can you hear them barking?"

"Mabari," Ibany says. "Where I used to live, before the Circle, I helped take care of the mabari."

Cole looks back at her, his eyes widening a little, "I've only seen bad mabari, kept by bad people."

"Mabari are very smart." Ibany rocks on her heels and looks back at the kid with a blank expression. "If they have bad owners, they will be bad dogs. If they have good owners, they will be good dogs."

Cole opens his mouth, looking the way he does when he's about to pull something painful out of someone's head. But nothing comes out, and he just exhales, looking a bit lost. Finally he asks, "Would I raise a good mabari?"

"I think so," Ibany says in her low, even voice, and pivots on her heel to face the door again. The kid looks pleased.

This is some of the weirdest flirting I think I've ever seen.

Finally, the door opens. A soldier, decked in Starkhaven colors, stands at the opening with a sword and shield. "The prince said to leave Bianca behind." The sword motions at Ibany, "Izzat her?"

"No, Bianca isn't here. Choir b-... his highness has agreed to see us, then?"

"'E 'as. Follow me. No weapons." The soldier eyeballs the flag, and Cole clutches it a bit tighter.

"Kid takes his flag bearing duty seriously," I say with a smile.

"Aye, leave that, then."

Cole looks back at me, eyes wide. "Varric said... I have to carry it. It's my focus."

The soldier takes a step back and lifts the sword a bit higher, "Wot, like one a dem mage staffs?"

"No, no, no!" I say, laughing. "I told him he had to focus on his flag bearing duty, that's all. Cole." I look at him, my smile tight. "Do as the gentleman says. Leave it right here by the door." He'll just have to focus on staying solid and human on his own. I'm not sure that'll work. I wasn't certain the flag would work, either, but I got the idea from a story about a bronto and a feather.

Cole puts the flag down, his movements slow and deliberate under the watchful gaze of the armed soldier. Once his hand is empty, Ibany steps closer and reaches out to take it in hers. The kid relaxes, and I exhale.

Smart Tranquil.

The soldier eyes the both of them warily, then shakes his head. "Nah, the both of them can stay 'ere. 'Is 'ighness only wanted to see you."

Shit. This wasn't part of the plan we went over. I watch Cole's eyes go wide again. Kid's smart enough to know what to do, isn't he?

I shrug to the soldier, then motion to Ibany, standing alone at the gate entrance. "If that is what his highness wants, that's what he'll have. Ibany, I'll be back before you know it.

The Tranquil blinks down at her empty hand, then stares at me. She stays quiet. The soldier looks satisfied, and off we walk, deeper into the Starkhaven camp.

The north half of Hightown doesn't look that bad, but the south half didn't put up much of a fight. They fell back behind the barricade. But if the bank doors are being used on this side of the barricade, I have to imagine that at least a little ransacking went on.

We meander through the streets, lined with military tents and bored looking soldiers. The shops that fill this side of town have been opened, supplies gone through, stands empty of goods.

Respectful ransacking. Light looting. Polite pillaging.

Eventually we arrive at the merchant guild hall, a big, impressive building with big impressive gates. If there is anything the merchant guild loves, it's showing off money. It's a very dwarven design, and the doors are flung open to let the sunlight stream in, spilling over the mosaic floor.

Inside, standing in wait, is the choir boy: Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven.

He looks exactly as I remember in, still in that stupid white armor that could be seen for miles in the dark. It's the sort of armor that should be worn at ceremonies, but it's well made, and Choir Boy always had a sentimental side. It was a gift from his dead parents.

His striking blue eyes take me in, hands on his hips. He seems to want to smile, but isn't sure if that would be wise, so his mouth hovers in this halfway smirk. Deeper into the room, I spy what must be advisors, generals, and one scrawny former Seneshal. Bran.

I pass a quick, assessing look over the group assembled. Two women, four men, including Bran. All human, because of course they are. All dressed well, because of course they are. One of the men looks military. The women look like twins. They all look like they were passing around a lemon before I walked in.

There's a royal guard here, as well, dressed in Starkhaven livery and keeping close to the prince. He's got a bland, forgettable face, but sharp little eyes that are fixed on me. Guards always make me miss Bianca something fierce.

"Varric," Sebastian says at last, and his arms open in welcome. "This is a surprise. I was not aware you left Skyhold. It is good to see you, old friend."

Is it? I flash a quick smile and let out a little laugh. "Too cold up there for my taste. Thought I'd check on Kirkwall. So! Prince Vael, is it? How's that working out for you?"

Sebastian lets out a sigh, and his shoulders sag. "Not as well as I had hoped." He walks to a set of chairs about a table. The eyes of his advisors follow me like wasps on a picnic basket. They all stand at attention as their prince sits, and he motions me to join him. "I thought we would be greeted by the people as saviors. We expected some resistance, of course, but nothing like this. The people should want order restored."

I hop up into the offered chair. Humans and their tall-ass chairs. "Well, sort of a chaotic time, Highness. Tough to know who to trust."

"They should trust in the Maker, and that I am an instrument of His will, Varric." Sebastian's intense blue eyes lock on me. "As I have always been."

Yeeeah, he hasn't changed a bit, has he? My eyes dart across the room, looking for a funny hat in the shadows. Nothing. "I don't doubt that one bit, Ch-... Highness."

The corner of Sebastian's mouth curls up, slightly, at my little slip into his old nickname. "Tell me what she's like. The Herald."

She's not the Herald, for one. I clear my throat and sit up a bit straighter, "I'm not sure what I can say that you don't already know. Elf, mage, glowy hand. Friendly, fair. Funny haircut."

Sebastian scoots a bit forward in his seat, "I've not had the chance to meet her yet. I'd hoped after we annexed Kirkwall, I would see Skyhold. And come now, Varric. You're a wordsmith, surely you can describe who she truly is better than that!"

She left my best friend behind.

I laugh again, and hold my hands up, "I have to save some of the good stuff for the novelization, Highness. But a tease is fair, for old time's sake."

"For old time's sake," Sebastian agrees with a faint, sad smile, then nods for me to continue.

"She glows. Not just the mark on her hand that can open and close tears in the fade with a simple sweep of her arm. She's light, and the faithful are like moths, who can't help but be drawn in. Hard to define exactly what the allure is. She's pretty, sure, but not dazzling in her beauty. If she's been touched by the Maker Himself, that's impossible to know for certain, and she doesn't quite know herself. It's a purity of spirit. An honesty, an openness. She wants to do right, and she knows how hard that is, and the pain it can cause. And she feels that inevitable pain, makes it her own... but she keeps carrying on." My head shakes, "It's a rare quality, precious, so naturally people want to witness it and be a part of it." I look back at Sebastian. "I'm thinking something like that on the jacket flap."

Sebastian is still watching me in rapt attention. "An elf. And a mage." He exhales, then chuckles, "Despite that, I suspect there are any number of suitors clambering for her attention."

I arch a brow. That's a bit out of character for Choir Boy. "Things are a bit tender for her in the romance department at present." I grin and shake my head, "But I didn't come to gossip. And despite the impression you seem to have, I'm not here on behalf of the Inquisition."

His smile fades. "But you were keen to use that impression to gain an audience with me."

I shrug, "Guilty as charged."

He's frowning now, and his various advisors shift about in the background, mirroring his irritation. "You're here on behalf of the Guard Captain, aren't you? The pair of you were always close."

"Now, Highness, that's not it at all. I'm here to do what is best for Kirkwall, and that means ending this war. I'm on my hometown's side. Honest."

Sebastian is on his feet, and from the glares I get from the peanut gallery, I realize I should stand, too. "Then you know that being brought into Starkhaven is what is best for Kirkwall!"

"Choir Boy, I say this as a friend," I don't pretend to flub this time. The nickname is still intentional, a stronger reminder that I'm not his enemy. "I'm going to need a bit more convincing."

"Convincing?" Sebastian sputters. "The city is without leadership and utterly devoid of spiritual guidance, ever since that mage-..." His teeth grit at the thought. "This is all his doing, and Andraste help me, I will see him and those who supported him pay, and I will see Kirkwall brought to heel. This... chaos only drives Kirkwall further from the Maker's sight, makes it more open to corruption." He stalks to the other side of the table. "Only when the Chant of Light is sung in all corners of the world, will He return to us. What more convincing do you need?"

"He's lonely," a voice whispers. "He's a baby bird."

I cast my eyes about quickly to see if anyone else heard. Doesn't look like it. I wet my lips quickly and step a little closer to the prince, "Blessed are the peacekeepers, right? That's what I care about, highness. There has to be a peaceful solution to this mess. We've had enough war."

Sebastian's lips pull back into a grimace, and he glances over at the small collection of women and men. They all look like they want to join in on the conversation, but manage to stay silent. Except for Bran, the recently elected viscount of Kirkwall.

"Your highness," he says, chin held high. "If the city would be willing to submit to your rule willingly, perhaps. But they have already shown that they will not."

I eyeball the former seneschal, and he meets my gaze coolly. He's the sort of man who is happy to be at the side of great men. He doesn't want to put the work into being great himself. Life is a lot easier in the shade of a big shadow.

"The end result we want is order and peace, right?" I look back at Sebastian. "The Chantry restored? We can work from there."

"That isn't what he wants," Cole whispers, and I catch sight of him, weaving through the advisors, his gaze fixed on Sebastian. I try to shake my head at him, to wordlessly tell him to pipe down before he's noticed.

"Hawke wanted peace, too," Sebastian says at last. "He tried to play peacekeeper. But he faltered when he should have been righteous." The prince lifts his head to watch me closely.

I shake my head slowly, "You weren't at the last fight. You didn't see..." I pause, then continue, "This wasn't all Blondie's fault, not entirely. Meredith had a red lyrium idol since Maker knows when. For years. And Orsino was dabbling in blood magic for just as long. It was a powder keg, any spark could have set it off. Anders just chose to be that spark."

"Elthina died for his attempt at martyrdom!"

I nod slowly, "And he should be brought to justice to pay for that, I agree with you one hundred percent. But this city, it doesn't deserve more war. No one here knows where Blondie is. Aveline doesn't know, and neither do I."

Sebastian steps closer and bends at the waist to look at me, eye to eye. "Hawke knows."

He takes my stunned silence for some kind of affirmation.

"Hawke knows," he repeats, and it still takes me a moment to find my voice.

"Hawke is dead."

The prince straightens, his mouth a thin line and his eyes narrowed. "I have heard that rumor. I don't believe it, and I don't believe you."

"Sebastian," I say, and I'll admit, my voice cracks a little. "Hawke is dead. We... we left him in the Fade. He chose to stay behind to save the Grey Wardens... to save his brother..."

The prince steps away from me, shaking his head. His advisors watch him with admiration and triumph. "Lies, so that he can hide and continue his treachery. The terms remain the same. We will take this city and search it from top to bottom until we catch Anders' scent. Unless you have anything useful to provide, I trust our business here is concluded."

I stare at the line of figures in shadow, then back at Sebastian. I swallow, and say again, "Hawke is gone." Alarm bells are going off. Something is very very wrong.

"Remove him," Sebastian says to one of the guardsmen, his back to me as he walks into a meeting room in the back of the hall.

The bland Starkhaven royal guard takes me by the arm, a bit too tight, I'll add, to drag me out. "Choir Boy, be reasonable! Come on, let's talk some more! What did you say to me that one time... when you hold onto anger, it colors everything you do!" But he's gone into the shadowy recesses of the hall, and I am dragged out into the street, then back to the gates.

The guard shoves me, a bit too roughly, I'll add, to the ground. And I'm sure that kick of dirt into my ear was intentional. He exchanges a few quick words with the same soldier who let us in, shoots me a dark look, and turns to stalk back to the guild hall.

Ibany is exactly where we left her, standing with perfect posture among a collection of soldiers. The big metal door is opened for us.

"'Is 'ighness is losing 'is patience, I see," the same soldier from before informs us. "You'd best tell your boss 'at the next time sommun comes out this door, iss wif a full surrender."

Another shove, a slam of metal, and we're on the other side of the barricade once more.

I turn to look at Cole, who apparently never left my side. He picks at his fingernails, staring up at the door. "A bird can't learn to fly without any feathers," he murmurs. "But he's mistaken plucking for friendship. They all say yes, and that's almost as good as the real thing, especially since it's all he has."

"Dumb it down for us, Kid. Make your words more solid."

Cole turns to look at me and rolls his lower lip between his teeth as he takes a few moments to try and make sense. "He wants a family."

Oh. Is that all?


	5. Chapter 5

"That's all?"

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. "That's what the kid got off him, sure. He's lonely. It makes sense."

We're back in the guard captain's office. Cole is off somewhere with the Tranquil, leaving Aveline, Donnic, and myself to hash out a war strategy around 'the prince is lonely.'

Donnic looks to his wife, "It does. Remember after his entire family was slaughtered, he was eager to murder those responsible. The Flint Company. The Harrimans."

Aveline sighs and leans against her desk. "And all he had left was Elthina. I understand, but that isn't helping us here. You said if you got your spirit near the prince, he'd come up with a solution!"

"It's a start. And I'm telling you, this is the kid's specialty." I flash her a smile. "Shit, there wasn't a person in Skyhold that didn't get a little therapy out of him."

Aveline's eyes cut to me. "And you used him on your enemies? He was carrying knives. I suspect those were a bit more effective on Corypheus than a few kind words."

I shake my head, "Sebastian isn't our enemy. He was our friend, Aveline. But something is up. I think those vultures he has hanging around him are influencing him."

"His advisors?" Donnic asks. "Bran is among them now, isn't he?" I nod in the affirmative, and his brows pull together thoughtfully. "So he's newly a prince, seized power in Starkhaven, and everyone he trusts is dead."

I smirk, "He doesn't believe Hawke is dead."

Donnic shakes his head, "My point is that a drowning man grasps for any hand, be it a helpful hand or not."

"So we take out his advisors. I like it." I shift Bianca onto my shoulder. So nice to have her back in my arms. "Too bad I'm banished from his camp. We'll need something a bit messier than talk to get him away from them."

Aveline is silent. The remaining fingers of her left hand rub the scar on her chin. "He didn't believe that Hawke is dead. What else did he say that seemed strange?"

I puff out my cheeks, "Funny you ask that. He was asking about the Inquisitor. If she had any suitors."

"Not so strange," Donnic says with another shake of his head. "He's a prince now. He'll be expected to produce heirs. And a marriage with the leader of the Inquisition would be advantageous politically."

"And marrying the Herald of Andraste would be in line with his religious piety." Aveline crosses her arms as she looks at each of us. "But she's an elf and a mage. Two strikes too many. Starkhaven would never allow such a union."

Wait. Wait wait wait. I lean forward. "He trusts the Inquisition..."

Aveline scowls at me, "And am I to do the same?"

I shake my head quickly, "No. I mean yes. I mean... they got you out of danger and got Choir Boy to hold still. They neutralized the battle here with minimal casualties. Played both sides at the same time, like you said. Now? Now... they could make a very powerful play to help us all out."

"You have a plan," Donnic says.

"It had better be a fast plan. More of his soldiers arrive every day, Varric. He's mounting a final assault, with or without the Inquisition."

"I have a plan," I nod to Donnic with a grin, then flash that same grin to Aveline. "Not a fast plan, but the plan includes a clever stalling tactic."

Aveline drops her hands to her sides, and her hands curl around the edge of her desk, the fingernails digging into the wood. "Varric," she says, though it's more like a growl. "We can't depend on a stalling tactic. He could break through the barricade. He could tunnel into Darktown and take us out from below. He could ally with someone with a naval fleet and take us from the south. And all we can do is sit here and wait. I've already tried to evacuate the city, but this is Kirkwall. They refuse to leave. The people here will die protecting their homes." She cuts her eyes back to me. "And you want to stroke his ego." Her head gives a quick shake, red hair in her face. "If I personally surrender-"

"Aveline, no, we've-" Donnic starts.

"If I personally surrender, turn myself over as the ally of Anders he insists that I am, it might satiate him."

"It won't. He wants the city. He's convinced this is some sort of Holy War."

Aveline turns back to me, standing tall once more. "Then twist the arm of your new best friend the Divine. Or will she refuse to aid either side, like Elthina before her? Like the Inquisition?"

I scoff, "You think Cassandra will do a damn thing I ask? She's the one who hauled me off from here, remember? Hell, if I know her, she'd say the only way to save Kirkwall is to annex it into Starkhaven. Even if I held the next volume of Swords and Shields hostage..."

"Volume of what?" Donnic asks.

"And she hasn't even been anointed, or crowned, or whatever it's called yet." I focus my attention on Aveline, "And even if I talk the Seeker into our cause, that's still going to take time. She's got her own bevy of Chantry advisors, too. So after we talk her into it, she's got to talk her committee into it."

"And in the meantime, she instructs Starkhaven to retreat until the Chantry passes judgement on the matter," Aveline says.

"And his skeevy advisors tell him to take Kirkwall anyways. Act now and apologise later. Starkhaven will double in size, become a port rather than landlocked. Increase in trade, access to our mines... They'd be thick to let this opportunity pass them by. What we need is a distraction. Focus his attention elsewhere."

"We should give him Anders," Donnic says in a soft voice.

"He's probably holed up in a cave in the Hissing Wastes somewhere," Aveline mutters. And when he's heard that Hawke is gone... Vengence won't like that. Hawke told me he was struggling to keep Anders whole under the demon's increasing influence. In the end, Hawke did just what Anders did. He chose what he thought was the greater good over the man he loved. That might just be enough to destroy Blondie completely. And that's without taking that weird Grey Warden Calling shit into consideration.

Ugh. I hate thinking about this shit.

"Everyone is looking for him. Inquisition, Templars, Wardens, Chantry agents... Lot of people still think killing him will solve everything." My head shakes, "If they haven't found him, I doubt we will. We sure as hell don't have the resources, not when we need to keep Kirkwall secure." I honestly think he's gone to the Deep Roads. All the other Wardens were hearing the Calling. Hard to say whose voice in his head would be stronger, though.

Aveline is silent a long time, and she paces the floor. Finally, she looks back at me. "Tell me your plan. I'm not saying I'm on board. But I want to hear it."

So I tell her.

She hates it. But she tells me to get to work on it. It's not the only plan she wants in the works, though. She also wants me to cash in all my favors since she's exhausted hers. Write the new Divine as long as I'm sending out letters. Nightengale. Cullen. The Inquisitor. Everyone that wouldn't listen to her.

I honestly think she overestimates my influence. But I do spend a fair amount of time exaggerating it, so that's understandable.

It's dark out by the time we finish talking. I duck out of the Keep and into the starlight, blinking until my eyes adjust. I hug my coat a bit closer. Cold night. Might get a frost tonight. I let out a slow breath and watch it turn to vapor.

It's a shitty plan. But they're all shitty plans. It's a shitty situation.

And it all started with that Maker-damned idol.

Across the square, camped in the shelter of what used to be an armory, I spot Cole and the Tranquil. They sit close together, out of the chilly wind, over a glittering brazier. Neither one seems to be talking, and their faces are turned up to the starry sky. I thought I was kidding before about the flirting.

I puff some warm air on my hands, pull on my gloves, and saunter over.

The pair of them wear the same blank, dreamy expression, though Cole sits up a bit, more alert as I come closer. "It started long before that," Cole says to me, and I shake my head at him.

"Not now, Kid. What are the pair of you up to?"

Cole pauses and looks confused. "Nothing."

Ibany looks at me as well. But she says nothing, and that vacant expression never leaves her face. So. Right. Nothing it is.

I clear my throat, "Y'know, Ibany, I didn't get to hear how you ended up working for Aveline."

Ibany nods once, "She has been kind to me."

I nod slowly back, "You said that before." Got to be direct and not conversational with Tranquil too, it would seem. "How did you end up working for the guard captain?"

"When the Circle fell, the Tranquil had no where to go. The mages ran. The Templars did not know what to do with us, and then they left. They kept a few of us. But there were so many. Knight Commander Meredith made many Tranquil."

I wince, but nod for her to continue.

"After the Templars left, the Tevinters came. We later learned that they were called the Venatori."

Oh... shit.

"The Tevinters were very happy to take many Tranquil. Some thought they were slavers, but others wondered if Tranquil could truly be slaves when we are so eager to serve."

I rub my face with my hand, "Ibany..."

Cole is listening with rapt attention, apparently unaware of where this story is going.

"They were not slavers. The slavers favor elves, for no one comes looking for elves." Ibany takes in a breath, and continues in her matter-of-fact way. "The Venatori wanted Tranquil. They filled a ship near to bursting. I was to join them, when the city guard found out what had happened and arrived to stop them. I fell into the water. I cannot swim. Guardsman Donnic hauled me out, along with a few others. But the ship, with the bulk of the Tranquil, escaped."

I lean against the wall and let out a long sigh. "They went to Redcliffe, didn't they?"

Ibany nods slowly, but continues her tale. "Guard Captain Aveline thought that people would take advantage of the Tranquil. She said that we are trusting and know no better. She wished that she saw it before the ship left. The day after it sailed, a few bodies washed up on shore. They had no heads."

Cole sits upright, finally catching wise. "The Ocularum," he whispers.

The elf, of course, doesn't seem to be disgusted, scared, or bothered in the least. Her head only tilts in confusion. "The Ocularum?"

"Venatori. They were using Tranquil skulls for... magical... something or other. Artifacts. All over the damn place," I explain.

Ibany's head sits straight upon her shoulders once more. "Ah yes. That makes sense."

Cole turns to look at me, actual color in his face. He looks... angry. Last time I saw him angry was when he wanted to kill the Templar that killed him. He turns back to Ibany, "Who led them?"

"A Magister," comes her automatic answer. "With a red robe and a large hat. Her teeth were crowded in her mouth, all crooked."

My gaze remains on Cole. He doesn't get emotional. All the shit he sees in people's heads, he remains... detatched. He frets over things that happen to him, sure. We've talked about his old friends in the Circle. Rhys and Evangeline. And he got a touched panicked when he thought I wanted to send him away. But things that happen to other people? Doesn't really phase him. "This magister is probably long gone, Cole," I say in a slow, low voice. "Those things were set up back when the Breach first appeared."

Cole's brow knits up and he shakes his head a little. He huffs a few times, hands balling into fists. I think he's trying to dig into Ibany's mind for more information on the Magister. And he's not finding anything in there. He huffs again, more of a grunt, really, and he's on his feet, pacing. "We need to find her."

"One thing at a time, Kid. We have to deal with Sebastian, first. Then the Carta. Then the Magister."

Cole's chin drops to his chest, and his shoulders sag, the anger faded as quickly as it came. "The baby bird, pushed from his nest. Nothing to grasp onto, falling, not flying, flailing."

I clear my throat, then nod, "Right. See if you can't track down some ravens. We need to get word back to Skyhold. Fast."


	6. Chapter 6

Things like 'fast' are relative. We sent out a raven. We waited. Awful thing, waiting like that. Waiting for a raven. Waiting for an attack, be it from Starkhaven to the north or the Carta from the south. Waiting for shit to get worse. Shit always gets worse.

I hardly need to tell you Kirkwall has lost a bit of it's life. The markets are thin, the templars are gone, the streets mostly empty. Everyone's waiting. An entire city is holding it's breath.

Aveline wants me closer than the Hanged Man, and with the Carta crawling all over and her makeshift army focused on the barricade, I'm inclined to humor her. I tried to talk her into letting me camp out in the old Vicount's place, but she set me up near the brothel.

That place is far from dead. Soldiers are as good for business as Templars were. Ahem. But you don't want to hear about that.

What you want to hear about is the fact this morning I woke up to the news that a ship had arrived. And I mean that in the most literal sense.

"A ship arrived."

"Cut that out."

Cole is perched on the edge of my headboard, poking me in the shoulder with his toe. My vision is a bit blurry. I'm not too good at waiting, and I may have played a few too many hands of Wicked Grace with the Blooming Rose employees. And they may have bought me a few too many drinks to make up for their losses. I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight leaking in through the tears of my curtains.

"What time is it?"

"The cockerels have been awake, and the cooks have been awake, and the cats have been awake and back to sleep again-"

"Kid, remember that sundial I showed you?"

"No." He helpfully uses his foot to push me further into an upright position, then hops off onto the floor. "A ship. Aveline was pleased to see it."

"What ship?"

"From Antiva. They said Isabela sent them. To help."

Somewhere in my already clanging head, alarm bells are going off. "Isabela?"

Cole nods, crawling under my bed to collect my boots. "There were men on the ship. They've gone to meet with the guard captain. Just now."

Isabela... wouldn't send a ship. Not without telling me. She's one of the only ones who's kept up on her letters with me. And she's no where near Antiva, last she told me. I shake my head to clear it and take my boots, pulling them on. "What exactly did they say?"

Cole steps back, clearing a path between me and Bianca. "We are here to see the Guard Captain. We are friends of Captain Isabela, come to lend our aid to the war effort. She should know the name, yes? Take us to her."

My head clears like a door slamming open to spill light into a dark room. "She's calling herself Admiral now." Bianca is in my hand, and we move.

Out of the dingy apartment, across the dirt streets in the blinding sunlight, running fast towards the Keep. I can see the men ahead of us, ascending the stairs, wrapped in cloaks to hide weapons, hoods up to shield faces from the bright light. Just beyond them I can make out a streak of red hair in the darkness of the Keep.

We aren't going to make it. I lift Bianca, still running, breathing hard. If I stop running, we don't make it in time. If I keep running, my aim is shit and I miss my target.

We aren't going to make it. Those men, whoever they are, weren't sent by Isabela, and they are going to kill Aveline.

We aren't going to make it.

We don't make it.

One of the Antivans, at the back of the procession, moving more quickly to catch up with his fellows, moves first.

He steps in close to the hooded figure closest to him, jabs his arm forward, and the man falls. He's barely on the ground when the straggler moves again, all in the same motion, to kill the man beside him with a quick flash of his knife.

The man- an elf, he must be- continues to move, dancing from partner to partner, stabbing the third Antivan before anyone realizes what it happening. They all turn to him, calling out words I can't make out from here, and the fight really begins.

Aveline and her men, stunned, are slow to respond, and aren't sure who is on whose side.

The elf continues his easy assault on the Antivans, another knife appearing in his other hand. The battle is suddenly more vicious. These aren't sailors, that much is obvious. There's seven of them now, locked in a battle of practiced moves, dirty punches and kicks, and large, deep wounds.

This is a fight to the death.

The Kirkwall boys finally move in to just break it up, but are met with handfuls of blinding powder and punches to the throat. That dirty fighting, those moves?

Crows. These are Crows.

One of the Crows breaks away from the fight, taking a few steps towards Aveline. She has her sword out, but the elf is quicker. One of his blades flies from his hands and buries in the back of the Crow's head. But he's left himself open to attack from another Crow, and takes a deep stab to the arm, and another to his side.

This all happens in seconds, time enough for me to get within range. Bianca is grateful for that. She spits out a handful of bolts, enough to take out a few more Crows while the elf backs away, and Aveline and her men stop trying to play guards and start taking the would-be assassins out.

I run up the stairs, but they were built for human legs, and Cole gets to the Keep entrance before I do, taking them two at a time. He slits the throats of those men on the ground, and by the time I catch up the fight is over.

The elf's hood has fallen back, revealing blond hair, a tattooed face, and a pale smile where he leans against the wall. "Applause... is an acceptable reaction." One hand cups his wounded side, the other motions at the dead assassins. "Impressive, no?"

Aveline stares at him, wide eyed. "You." She sheathes her sword again, stepping over the bodies on the floor. "I know you."

I know him, too. "Get this man a healer!" I bark to one of the soldiers. He's the most seriously injured of the good guys.

"Of course you do," the elf says as he straightens. "Zevran Aranai is known far and wide for his many _prowesses_." He purrs the word like a cat, still smiling.

"We've met," Aveline reminds him, reaching out to take his uninjured arm. "We helped you when you were evading the Crows."

"And now you're killing them," I add, looking over the mess.

"Yes, I should be better at evading, no?" He winces, but leans on Aveline. He grasps at a pack on his side. "If one of you would be so kind as to go through my pockets... I'm quite certain that was a poisoned blade. I have the antidote here somewhere. Something of a rush, quite important."

I step forward quickly, digging through his pack. He's got quite the collection, bottles of every size and color. A few look like poisons I know. That one is cologne. My hand closes around a small thin vial, "This one?"

"No, the-... yes, that one. Now, as much as I would love to tell you to rip my clothes off and rub it into my supple, tanned flesh..." Zevran gives me a wink, "drinking it should work just as well."

I uncork the vial with a smirk and hand it to Aveline. "Tempting, but you're not exactly my type."

"Ah, too tall? Pity." He turns to Aveline and opens his mouth in anticipation of the antidote, "Am I her type?"

"I'm married."

"You have dodged the question, my lady. Am I also your husband's type? Something can easily be arranged." He swallows the vial's contents and sighs, looking down at his bloodied arm. "Well. Perhaps not today."

We help the injured man to the nearest bench in the Keep, a healer finally running over to us. Zevran takes a moment to whine at her that he can't pull his shirt off himself, and that she needs to do it. Her eyes roll, but she does so and sets to work, cleaning out the wound. Looks nasty.

"Explain what just happened here," Aveline says. She stands over him, running the corner of her cloak over her sword to clean it.

Zevran winces a bit at the healer's attention, leaning back against the wall. "Oh, that. Yes. Well, I had something of a run in with the Crows in the Free Marches and was very eager to leave. I was two steps ahead of a band I thought was after me, when they suddenly boarded a ship for Kirkwall. This was strange, because I dropped hints that I was heading to the Southern Reaches, when I was actually bound for Orlais. Why, I asked myself, were these Crows headed to Kirkwall? Well, because there is a war on in Kirkwall, and for assassins, war means one thing. Kill a leader to end the war. Deeper pockets and looser morals wins. Ever-ow! Ow ow ow!" He winces again. The healer's pulled out needle and thread.

Aveline's hand has balled into a fist and she meets my gaze. "Sebastian."

"Hiring assassins doesn't seem his style, Aveline," I say, looking up at her from the corner of my eye.

"Then someone working for him. What does it matter?"

"Now, Zevran thought to himself," the elf continues through gritted teeth, "Zevran, there are very few of the Crows. You like killing Crows, and you are very short on coin. Kill the Crows, and offer your services to the wounded party. Which, sadly... seems to be Zevran."

"It matters because this just proves that someone is undermining him! Influencing him!" I say to Aveline.

"Or it just proves that he's no longer the man we knew, Varric."

I shake my head to her, "People don't change, Aveline."

She meets me with a dark look. "People do change. A great deal. Anders, for one."

"That was a demon, he doesn't count."

"Varric..." Aveline pinches the bridge of her nose. "Your scheme isn't going to work. We aren't going to stop this war by being his friend. He is not our friend. He is willing to kill people to take this city."

"But-"

She turns back to Zevran, "You're an assassin."

She'd better not be thinking what I think she is...

Zevran looks up from the bench. "Usually."

"Do you think you can infiltrate the Starkhaven camp?"

"Aveline!" I say, sounding a bit too much like my mother when she caught me about to do something stupid.

Zevran lifts his hand from his wounded side, sticky and red with blood. "Not at this exact moment, no."

The healer looks up as well, a round faced human woman with heavy lidded eyes. "You said you wanted to ration the healing potions we have for when the barricade falls."

Aveline's expression turns grim, eyes shrewd slits.

"Aveline, listen. Just... just think about this. You don't know if Choir Boy's camp is behind this. The Carta isn't too keen-"

"Even if we killed Sebastien, any one of his advisors would be happy to take his place and pick up his cause," Aveline says, looking back down at me. "I'm no fool. He'd be a martyr."

"Here I was hoping there'd be a conscientious objection to the idea..."

"There is the question," the elf pipes up again, holding his arm out to the healer for more stitches, "of whether or not I will be paid for saving your life?"

Aveline glances over at him. "You think I couldn't have managed on my own?"

I turn to the sound of hurried footfalls. Ibany is jogging up to us, stepping carefully around the bodies and pools of blood.

She has a letter in her hand, which she holds out to me. I see a familiar eye stamped into the wax seal.

"A raven arrived," she says. "This is for you. I believe she agreed to the plan."

Right. Wait over. Let the stalling begin.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't easy to get out of the city, to turn north and move away from the coast. We circled back, heading south towards Kirkwall again. We certainly couldn't come through the barricade again.

While we were waiting on a reply, we took a day to scope out the Gallows from afar. From very afar. I could see the Carta dug in deep. Ships coming and going, taking out raw red lyrium, bringing in fresh labor. Too many for a small band to take down. That would take an army. And Kirkwall's meager army is a bit focused on the Starkhaven forces.

We were watching the skies, too. I'd managed to track down a few of Nightingale's spies keeping tabs on the situation. I'm sure there's a few on the Starkhaven side, too. None of them were permitted too close to the prince, and none of them managed to get him alone. If she has any intel on his advisors, she's not sharing it with me.

But someone else would. And that is who we're going to meet, at this old abandoned inn north of Kirkwall and well into the farmlands. Halfway between Starkhaven and the coast. This is where the whole crazy plan is going to start.

"You've tried to get word to the others?" I ask Donnic. It's me, him, and the kid. Aveline stayed in the city with the Tranquil and the still healing Zevran. She wanted to send more men with us, but the fewer the better.

"You mean your old gang? Merrill has disappeared with her clan. Slavers have been all over the Free Marches, rounding up refugees. The Dalish have gone to ground. And I suppose Fenris is having the time of his life hunting the slavers down. And no response from Isabela, apparently, though we could certainly use a pirate fleet on our side, in case Starkhaven does manage to hire a navy." Donnic leans against the wall of the old tavern, and reaches a hand overhead to tap the wooden sign and let it swing. Looks like it used to be a carving of a pony. "So. Yes, we've tried, but we've gotten no answer. You're the only Marcher among the old lot."

I nod slowly, then fall silent at the sound of horse hooves in the early dawn mist.

"Inquisition," Cole calls out from somewhere. "It's her."

I hop away from the inn, and walk casually along the road. Hopefully, we won't be mistaken for bandits and shot on sight. I whistle out, a loud sharp note, and hold up a hand. "Here!"

The horses knicker, and I can make out a carriage as the sun rises and starts to burn the fog away. It's flanked by a few Inquisition soldiers, two of which I recognise and greet with warm smiles and handshakes. "Is her royal rufflington present?"

The carriage door opens, and Josephine Montilyet's dark head pops out. "Varric?"

There's a momentary pang of guilt, but I push it away. This will work. If not? Well. After an official Inquisition visit would be an official Chantry visit. Cassandra might not be as opposed to it as I let on, but I don't want to be in the Divine's debt.

If this works out? Ruffles will be in mine.

"Ruffles!" I call out brightly. I take her hand, kiss it just like a real gentleman, and turn to motion to Donnic, "This is Donnic, guards captain's husband. Cole is around here somewhere. You remember him. Mind if I ride along for a bit? Short legs." Grasping her hand, I pull myself into the carriage.

Blinking, Josephine settles back into her seat. She's dressed well for her arrival in the Starkhaven camp, but when isn't she? Black hair curled and piled onto her head in neat, ornate plaits. She's ruffled up in her favorite color gold, and she's added a few of her finest pieces of jewelry. "I take it you left something out of the letter?"

"Have a good trip? How are you liking the Marches?"

Josephine arches a brow at me. "I know you left something out of the letter, because it was quite clear in its instructions, and yet you wanted to meet in person before I met with the prince. I'm listening."

The stalling tactic was to get the Inquisition to tell the Prince to wait for an official diplomatic envoy. Hopefully he thinks she's bringing a small army to support his war. I have other plans, of course, and I'll admit to not outlining _all_ of them in the letters. I tap my thumbs together, watching her as the carriage rocks along the dirt road. "Talked to Blackwall lately?"

This gets me a frown. "Varric."

"I'm not avoiding the topic, it's... relevant." I clear my throat and start again. "What did Nightingale dig up on his advisors?"

Josephine watches me a moment more, then leans over to pick up her little scribbleboard from the seat beside her. "Names of all of them. Six total. Viscount Bran you already know. Others are minor lords and ladies from Starkhaven, and most of them are known social climbers, most with a long partnership with the Vael family."

"Anyone that might be untrustworthy?"

"They are social climbers, they are all untrustworthy. Two from the Dansemes family, they backed Sebastian's rival for the throne until he appeared in Starkhaven after the Circles fell. The others, Theodroy, Ghestain, and Aldgar, they all supported Sebastian's claim. Theodroy is a military man, probably his general in this endeavor. Ghestain is an old man, I suspect he wants to marry one of his daughters off to the prince." I turn to look out the window, and Josie continues, "Aldgar is deep in debt, working with the prince means he will have first pick of the Kirkwall spoils. The two Dansemes, sisters, they want to make sure they are on the winning side and are eager to prove their loyalty. Some call them the twin Vipers. And Bran you know, no doubt better than I do." She lowers the board and looks at me.

"Do any of them pose an immediate threat? We need to... take them out?" This assassination shit, this isn't where my strengths are. But I still think Choir Boy is being manipulated. Remove the puppet master, our old friend is more amenable to compromise.

"It is difficult to say. They might be working together, trying to influence his highness into conquering Kirkwall. Or, due to what you've told me of the prince, he may truly want this all on his own." She pauses a bit, watching me. "What does any of this have to do with Blackwall?"

"You ever met the prince before?" I ask, looking back at her.

Her eyes narrow on me, suspicious. "No. I know of him by reputation, of course."

"He's awful handsome. For a human."

She's quiet for a long time, and I think she's caught onto my plan. "Ah."

"I don't trust anyone close to him, Ruffles. And you, you're cute, you're personable, you're clever. And a lady. Just... get him away from his advisors. He needs a friend, Ruffles. All he has are sycophants with motives."

"Don't we have a motive of our own?"

"He's a good guy! He used to be. Boring, sure, but decent, you know? He's done this rage thing before, and he came out of it all right thanks to Elthina and Hawke. And both of them are dead. This gang he's got. They're taking advantage of the guy. He's got no one. He's lonely!"

"He's a baby bird," Cole chimes in suddenly, and we both nearly leap out of our skin. Ruffles even lets out a shriek of surprise. I couldn't tell you how long he's been sitting on the floor between us.

"Andraste's tits..." I mutter and shake my head. "Repeating it doesn't mean it makes more sense, Kid."

"He doesn't know how to fly," Cole says, looking between us. He gives Ruffles a shy smile, "Hello, Josephine. You are happy to be here. You need to stall, too."

Josephine goes pale, her eyes wide on me. I lift a brow, "Stall what?"

"It's none of-"

"Her betrothal!" Cole chimes in, ever helpful.

"To who?"

"This isn't-"

"Lord Ardono Ciel Otranto," Cole says, giving Josephine a smile. "You don't have anything against him. You just don't know him."

I can't help it. I start to laugh, and Josie goes from pale to pink. "Hang on, I think I have a better offer here! A prince is a fair bit better than a lord!"

Josephine swats at me with her scribble board, "Absolutely not. I am here on official diplomatic business for the Inquisition. You want this matter descalated!"

"None of this is terribly romantic," Cole says with a sigh. "That's what the problem is."

I take a few hits from the board, still grinning. "Look, Ruffles. I wouldn't even suggest it if I didn't think it would work. He needs someone to pull him out of this mess. Kirkwall will recover just fine on it's own, we just need a little help to get the Carta out. I'm offering you a prince here!"

Josephine flops back into her seat with a huff. "You want the Inquisition help with that as well, I suspect."

"He's cute. I promise. And... traditional. Could you just... make friends with him at the very least? Becoming a princess would be ideal, but it's your life." I hold up my hands, "He loves the Inquisition. And he knows he needs to marry. Use that."

I get a scowl, and she returns her attention to the board, shuffling through her papers. "Why not partner with Starkhaven? Unite. Accept their aid, keep your sovereignty."

"If you can talk him into that, that would be amazing. But he wants the city. He wants the people in it. He wants to fix it under his rule. Being broken has always been part of Kirkwall's charm. And again, his advisors... I think they're pushing for the takeover and dissuading compromise. He wants Aveline. He wants Anders."

"Mm." Josephine nods slowly, "Leliana still has not been able to find him. She thinks she has his trail, but it may be months old." She watches me, "Would you support turning him over to Starkhaven if he is found?"

I honestly don't know how to answer that. I want to say yes, of course. Blondie needs to pay the piper.

But with Hawke dead... I don't know if I can do that.

I shake my head, "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it." I peek out the window. We're getting close to the Starkhaven camp. I open the door of the carriage and nudge Cole with my foot. "Work your magic, Ruffles. I know you can do this."

Her cheeks turn pink again as she gives me an exasperated look. "Diplomacy. Diplomacy is my magic. I don't _flirt_ to get my way, Varric. Honestly, does everyone believe that Antivan stereotype?"

"An eyelash bat here or there couldn't hurt the diplomatic process, that's all I'm saying." I motion for Cole to hop out and then I hesitate on the running board. "I'm sorry about Blackwall."

"Don't be. It doesn't matter. We knew how it would end." She folds her hands on her board and looks to me with a sad expression.

"And this could be a new beginning. Keep an open mind, for Kirkwall's sake." I jump from the rumbling carriage.

Josephine pokes her head out of the carriage, "Yes, no pressure. Thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

We spent the day near the old inn. I showed the kid how to use a bow and arrow, though it's easily been fifteen years since I picked one up myself. He refused to shoot at any of the rabbits in the overgrown wheat fields, so I had to do it myself in order to get us some dinner.

Still, I think he picked up the gist of a bow and arrow. Maybe it's foolish, my trying to keep teaching him things. Maybe I shouldn't hold out so much hope for him, that he might learn and grow, and become a little more human.

But hey, when shit gets this bad, a dwarf has to cling to hope where he can find it.

This part of the Marches might fill up again. Most of the locals fled in the chaos. Donnic told me a few Fade tears opened up nearby. We even found an Ocularum when we were scouting the area, which made Cole sullen again.

By nightfall, we were stoking the fireplace in the empty inn, roasting the rabbit with wild carrots. Donnic showed the kid how to skin and butcher it, then gave him one of the feet for good luck, which completely confused him.

"If I plant it in the ground," Cole says, turning the rabbit's foot down, pointing the paw into the earth, "will it grow into a full rabbit?"

"No, Kid."

"But rabbits come out of the ground."

"That isn't how rabbits are made, Kid."

"Varric's been teaching you knock knock jokes?" Donnic asks, a smile on his face.

"Yes," Cole says as he turns his rabbit's foot in his long, pale fingers. "I need lots of practice."

"At knock knock jokes?"

I smile a bit, "Tell him one."

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

Put on the spot, Cole hesitates. "... Rabbit."

"Rabbit who?"

"The rabbits... were eating the barley. And now you are going to eat them, because they are made of meat. But you're also going to eat the barley, too, in a way."

I nod slowly to Donnic, "See? He needs practice."

Donnic's confused expression melts into a smile, and he chuckles with a shake of his head. "Varric has explained puns, hasn't he?"

"I don't remember," Cole says dreamily, prodding each of the rabbit's toes with his finger.

"Well, a pun is a word that sounds like another word. So... okay, for instance, Cole. In a knock knock joke, you could give you name, who's there, Cole. Cole who? Col' out here, please let me in." Donnic wraps his arms about himself, pretending to shiver.

Cole looks up at the guard. "I would be outside. That's where you knock on the door. On the outside."

"No... Cole sounds like cold. It's col' outside, let me in." Donnic smiles weakly, "That's the joke."

"Cole. Cold. Coals aren't cold, they burn. Hot coals. Cold coals. Coals can be cold, after they are consumed, conflagration long passed. Old coals cold."

I shake my head a little, peeling the meat off the bone. "Just let him get it out of his system, don't try and make sense of it."

Donnic smirks at me, then looks back at Cole, "You're going to want to soak that in alcohol if you want to keep it. Two days, then let it dry out in the sun. Tie it to a string, and you'll have a fine good luck charm."

Cole is silent a few moments, his head lowered. "You would have made a good father. It hurts sometimes, but you can't let her know how much. Maybe when all this is over, you tell yourself." He looks up at Donnic. "Varric said there would be war orphans."

Donnic's eyes are wide and I wince a little, "Kid, why don't you see if there's some bottles of alcohol left behind here, huh?"

"I want to help."

I shake my head at him, "I know you do, Kid. Remember what we talked about, not blurting these things out in front of other people? Privacy, remember?"

"Private pain pollutes. Putrefies. Sometimes you need a knife to cut it out, and that can hurt worse when it's buried deep, but it's better when it's out."

"It's fine, Varric." Donnic pulls the carrots out of the fire, puffing on one a few times before he pops it into his mouth. Unflappable. That's what Donnic is in one word. "What about you, Cole? Have you any family?"

I look back at the kid, but he's dropped his head to let his hat cover his eyes. "Do spirits have families?" he asks.

"I don't know, I never thought to ask one."

Cole shifts where he sits, turning the rabbit's foot over in his hands. His turn to be uncomfortable, I guess. Finally, I chime in, "Sure you do, Kid. You got me, and Chuckles, wherever he is. And Ruffles and the Inquisitor and Bull likes you too, deep down. Hell, now you've got Donnic and Tranquil, too."

"Don't I get a nickname?"

"Cyclops?"

Donnic smirks and shakes his head, though he does turn a bit to hide the eyepatch. "Very funny. One of your fellows took it, you know."

"Inquisition?"

"Dwarf."

"Oh. Carta. Those aren't my fellows. As you saw in the Hanged Man."

"Still. Impressive he could reach that high."

"You should know better than to underestimate a dwarf, Mrs. Vallen."

"That's-... you're actually not the first to call me that."

I scratch my chin, grinning. "You and Aveline both seem a bit worse for wear."

Donnic sighs, and gets to his feet. "We've had to weather a lot worse." He excuses himself for bed. We've set up some bedrolls up in the empty bed frames on the second floor. I should probably get some shut eye, too.

Kid likes to keep watch. He also doesn't sleep, so what else is he going to do?

Now you might be thinking that I should have sent him with Ruffles. See, I thought about that, too. But she doesn't have the rapport I do with the kid. He never manages to stick in her memory.

Besides, Ruffles can handle herself just fine. If not? Well. Add it to the long list of shit I will never forgive myself for. The last time-

"The last time you called someone in for help, he ended up dead," the kid pipes up. I look up at him, half bathed in orange light from the fire, half in blue nighttime shadow.

I get up, snuffing out the fire with my boot, shutting down that train of thought. "Not now, Kid. Just leave that alone, will you?"

"You said privacy. We are alone." He turns to look at me. He stares right at me in that unsettling spirit way as we're both plunged into darkness. "Being in Kirkwall makes it hurt more, not less. It's heavier. Everything is in ruins, but you still see him everywhere. If I can just fix this, if I can just make this right again-"

I can't deal with this shit right now. "Kid..." I rub my face with my hand, then shake my head at him. Distractions. Distractions. "You... you keep practicing with that bow and arrow, okay? See if you can't get us breakfast before the sun comes up."

He closes his mouth slowly, eyes still fixed on me. He looks away at last, pulling his stringy yellow hair into his face. "You're happy you don't dream."

"Yeah, Kid," I answer, voice faint. I step away and start up the stairs towards the waiting bedroll.

Ruffles better be back soon.


	9. Chapter 9

She made it back, thank the Maker. Took her a whole day and a half, right about the time I was gnawing my knuckles raw with worry.

But the anxious waiting is worth it when the first thing she says to me is, "You were right."

I was right, because he is handsome.

Now you'll have to forgive me if we change the story a bit here. You're familiar with my _Swords and Shields_ series, right? Well, gentle reader, this is where I get to earn my keep as we shift into a more romantic tone. It's close enough to the story Ruffles told me, and I've prettied it up a bit for your enjoyment. And every embellished lie is 100% true.

* * *

She was expected. Josephine Montilyet had sent word well ahead of her arrival, and if Varric was to be believed, devilishly handsome rogue that he was, the prince would be eager to see her.

The dwarf was not the first person to speak of the prince's good looks. Even as far as Val Royeaux, ladies passed breathless whispers of the prince of Starkhaven between their fan hidden faces. Handsome, unmarried, and recently made ruler of Starkhaven after a life cloistered away in the Chantry. The Orlesian ladies had many designs on such a man.

Josephine was hesitant to admit to being a romantic, of course. Especially on such an important diplomatic mission. And she certainly would not confess to the charming dwarf that there was any small amount of curiosity.

Besides, she knew his history, far better than any of the Orlesian ladies. He was not always a prince, not always a Chantry brother. Not always an heir, not always a favored son.

The Inquisition carriage rolled to a slow, easy stop in northern Hightown, the upper class district of Kirkwall. A guard in Starkhaven livery with a bland, forgettable face met her and offered her a hand to help her from the carriage.

"My lady," he said, voice soft in tone but heavy with Starkhaven brogue. "His highness awaits."

"Wonderful," she answered. Her dark head turned in every direction. Her travels across Thedas had never landed her in Kirkwall. Pity it was in such a state. Military tents dotted the streets. fine houses and hotels turned into barracks. What looked like a jeweler's shop had been utilized as a smithy to repair weapons and armor. This was not a city. This was an occupation.

The royal guard led her across the square and it's neglected fountains and landscaping, before she was led between tall doors and into the guild hall that served as the prince's command center.

She did catch a quick glimpse of him fussing before she was noticed. His head was down, tugging at his armor to straighten it, rubbing at a spot of dirt on the greaves with his palm.

"Her ladyship, Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition, your highness," the guard, whose name she neglected to ask, announced her.

The prince instantly stood straight and flashed a quick, self conscious smile.

Well. That was one rumor confirmed. Stunning blue eyes set in a sleek, tanned face. His brown hair was brushed back from his forehead. This was indeed a handsome prince. Like on a storybook, or the cover of one of those incredibly well written romance serials. It was all Josephine could do to keep from staring. It was by no small miracle that she remembered to curtsey at all. "Your Highness."

"Lady Montilyet," the prince said, his smile a bit more genuine as he stepped towards her. "You honor us with your visit. It's long since passed time we spoke with the Inquisition, and made more true our partnership."

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the guild hall. A table lined with a simple meal in large portions stood before her, along with a handful of maps and schematics. A pair of men stood nearby, watching her warily. She knew them only from reputation.

The man with the cropped gray hair standing at attention had to be Lord Theodroy, Starkhaven's general. The stooped man leaning on one of the chairs with a beard nearly long enough to touch his knees could only be Lord Ghestain. His other advisors were no where in sight.

Josephine flashed them both a bright smile, then let her eyes pass over the table once more. "You've prepared breakfast."

"If her ladyship wishes it." Sebastian straightened, watching her.

"We didn't want to waste any of the Lady Ambassador's precious time," Ghestain chimed in, his voice like a creaking ship.

"Indeed," Theodroy agreed, "We've been sitting on our hands long enough here, it's time the Inquisition got involved."

"Unless of course," the prince added in a slight admonishing tone towards the men, "Her ladyship is weary and dusty from her travels and wishes to rest or bathe."

Josephine scanned the men's faces again, then reached out to accept her scribble board from one of the Inquisition guards at her side. "I am here as an Ambassador from the Inquisition, not as a guest, highness." Varric's words rattled in her head, and she was quick to give Sebastian a smile, "But I am most grateful for the hospitality, of course.."

Sebastian smiled back, a shy boyish smile, and quickly pulled out a chair for Josephine. Once everyone was settled, Theodroy was the first to speak.

"When can we expect Inquisition forces?"

Josephine looked up from her papers to give the general a curious look. "I was not aware that forces had been promised, my lord."

"Not promised," said Ghestain. "But certainly implied."

"Barely even that of late," Theodroy said with a shake of his head. "Our letters to your Commander Cullen have been full of excuses, dancing about the issue. But now that your Darkspawn Magister is dead and gone, we are expecting military aid."

"We require troops and siege equipment." Ghestain slid some papers around. "A battalion at the very least. Eight-hundred men should make a great deal of difference."

Josephine's dark brows arched, but she said nothing, as Theodroy seemed all too eager to chime in as well.

"Eight-hundred at _least_. We were not expecting this much resistance, not after the Templars left. Starkhaven and Kirkwall are equal in size, and Kirkwall has no organized army."

"And you believed that taking them by surprise in a weakened state would make up for the disadvantage you have as the invaders," Josephine said with a nod, and she made a mark on her paper. Eight hundred. Siege equipment. Maker. "And all requests for surrender have failed? Diplomatic routes have been exhausted?"

Ghestain managed not to roll his eyes and stroked his beard instead. "They are not organized, my lady. You cannot ask a band of angry villagers to surrender."

"And diplomacy with this Aveline guard captain will not result in what his highness desires," Theodroy added with a shake of his head. "She aided a murderous mage. She cannot be trusted. If we walk through that barricade until the belief we've reached a truce? Mark my words, we'll be ambushed before the day is out." He levelled a look at her. "Now. The Inquisition must recognize that this is a noble cause, to bring order and Andraste's divine word back to this hell hole. Bring her under the rule of Starkhaven where she belongs. The Inquisition showed interest in aiding Starkhaven when they wanted his highness' public support. I do not believe them to be so fickle as to withdraw now."

"Everyone wishes for the Inquisition's aid, your lordship," Josephine made an airy motion with her quill. "Military aid, diplomatic aid. Our final assault on Corypheus' forces left many dead and wounded. If we were-"

"More excuses," Theodroy sputtered. "Your highness, this woman was sent here to placate-"

"Stop." Sebastien sat far back in his chair at the head of the table, watching them speak, his own voice cool. "Lady Montilyet represents the Herald of Andraste. We would both thank you not to refer to her as 'this woman.'" Blue eyes returned to Josephine, and she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest. "Forgive me, your ladyship. You seem quite capable of handling Lord Theodroy without my reminding his lordship of his manners."

Josephine smiled more warmly, and opened her mouth to reply, when Theodroy chimed in again.

"This _lady_ has been sent here to placate his highness and further stall and string us along with promises of military support _eventually_. We need it now. This stalemate cannot go on."

Josephine's lips twitched with irritation, but she continued to smile at the prince, "Forgive _me_ , your highness. But I was under the impression I would speak with you on these matters." _Get him away from his advisors,_ Varric had said.

Theodroy made a disgusted noise that reminded Josephine of a certain Seeker, while Ghestain tugged on his beard with a sour expression.

Sebastian just looked thoughtful. "You wish an audience alone."

"If his highness does not object."

"Your highness-"

Sebastian held a hand up to Ghestain. "I will keep Warren with me," he said, motioning to the forgettable-faced royal guard as he got to his feet. The others stood as the prince offered Josephine his elbow. "I've not had many opportunities to tour our new holdings, if her ladyship would indulge me."

* * *

"See that gap there, between those buildings?" His finger motioned out towards a conspicuously empty bit of sky. "That used to be the Chantry. Tall, beautiful building. Utterly stunning. Especially at sunset. When I first arrived there, against my will mind you, I nearly broke my neck climbing out the window to escape."

 _He's a baby bird_ , Cole had said. _He doesn't know how to fly._

"Why did you wish to escape?"

The prince rolled his lower lip between his teeth in a thoughtful expression that was, truth be told, utterly adorable. "I felt trapped. I was being forced to abandon everything I knew, everything I thought that brought me happiness." His shoulder lifted as he looked back at her. "But happiness for one's self doesn't bring purpose. Happiness for others does. It didn't take me too long to figure that out. The Revered Mother..." Sebastian let out a breath, then smiled at some memory, "She was a very good teacher."

They strode along the Hightown streets side by side, guard trailing behind. Every soldier they passed would stand and salute, so the prince eventually directed the stroll away from the men. Eventually, they found themselves in a garden that was beginning to overgrow from lack of upkeep. Roses spilled over planters. Dead leaves gathered between stones.

"But you're not here to listen to me prattle on about my past." He turned on a heel and pointed again to the empty spot. "That. That is why we are here."

Josephine hugged her scribbleboard to her chest and gazed up where he pointed. "The absence of the Chantry. Both literally and symbolically." She tilted her head to the side, "I'm sure it's a cause our new Divine would be behind, of course. Though not with the spilling of blood."

"Our new Divine has blood on her hands as well, doesn't she?" Sebastian sat on the edge of a planter and folded his hands between his knees. "The mage and Templar rebellion. The Orlesian civil war. The followers of that Magister."

Josephine shook her head with a little smile, "Surely it hasn't come to that here. Kirkwall's army, they are city guards, former Templars, mercenaries, locals..."

"Who are without the guidance of the Chantry. Of anyone. People who aided in the assassination of the Revered Mother, they're still in there." He gestured at the empty sky again, a bit more forcefully.

Her gaze flitted to his guard, slowly circling the perimeter of the garden. She cleared her throat and shifted from foot to foot. "Of course, highness. I do understand. Forgive me, my training was as a diplomat." She made an airy motion at her hand, "Diplomacy."

Sebastian looked up at her, a scowl on his face. "A surrender would be diplomatic. The city will be ours, one way or another."

 _Be a friend_ , Varric had said. She wet her lips, stepping around him to a bench beside the planter wall. She set her writing tablet down, dropped the quill in the inkwell, and turned to face the prince with her hands on her knees.

"You know," she said slowly. "When I was young and foolish, back home in Antiva, all I wanted to do was escape. I'm sure I would have crawled out a window as well, had I lived in a tower. Eldest of five, you'll understand."

The scowl on his face had been replaced by a soft, sad smile. "That must have been... loud."

"Three brothers, one sister. Very loud. Especially the sister." She flashed him a grin. "In any case, my family finally gave me permission to study in Val Royeaux. I'd wanted to visit it since I was a little girl. Everything I'd read about the place seemed... well. Romantic, I suppose." Josephine chuckled softly, shaking her head.

Sebastian paused, his blue eyes fixed on her, before he nodded. "I've been. It's a beautiful city."

Maker, those eyes. Josephine cleared her throat, silently wishing she had an Orlesian fan herself. "Yes. Very much so. Anyhow, here I was, young and silly, in this romantic city, wanting to lead a romantic life. So what do I do? I decide to play at being a bard."

His brow wrinkled up. "Orlesian bards are often spies," he said slowly, his gaze now a bit more wary. The guard continued to hover nearby, his attention back on the ambassador.

"Indeed!" Josephine agreed. "And what could be more exciting for a young, foolish girl than the idea of being a spy?" She waved a hand through the air, "I'm getting away from the point I wanted to make. I was playing at being a spy, and one day, protecting myself and a patron, I accidentally killed a man. He pulled a knife, I pushed him down the stairs, and he fell and broke his neck."

The prince raised his brows and leaned forward. "Sounds like it needed to be done."

"It did not." Her sharp eyes met his. "There is always another way. The both of us were stupid, both novices at the Game. Had I spoken before I acted... Maker knows who that man would be today."

Sebastian was silent a moment, scanning the gardens before his gaze found her again. "And am I the young fool with the knife?"

Josephine sputtered as she leaned back, "Certainly not! I mean-... What I mean is, this is why I favor diplomacy. I have blood on my hands as well, your highness. And it is my greatest regret."

The prince nodded a little and cast his eyes down.

"Maker, that turned into a lecture, didn't it?" She huffed, flustered, and picked up her board and quill once more so that she would have something to do with her hands. She was usually better at this. Well, maybe not making friends, but charming nobles, certainly. Diplomacy was never about making friends. It's just another form of the Great Game.

"When can we expect Inquisition forces, Lady Montilyet?" The prince rested a hand on either side of him and pushed himself to his feet.

"I... will... need to assess the situation here. Ascertain exactly what is needed and what we might be able to provide, your highness."

"I see." He didn't look at her, his eyes scanning the gardens once more until they found his guard. He exhaled as he rose to his feet. "We've established a nearby hotel as a barracks for the officers, my advisors, myself. We've set aside a room for you. Do your assessment. Figure out what the Inquisition can provide and how quickly. We can meet again tomorrow. If the Inquisition does not intend to give us any aid at all and this is all just a ploy to stay in Starkhaven's good graces... I certainly hope you'd say as much now and not waste both our time."

She rose as well. She added in a curtsey, as his wish to leave her company was obvious. "That is not at all why I am here, your highness."

The prince of Starkhaven watched her a few moments more, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Maybe she should have phrased that differently. "Of course not. Until tomorrow, Lady Montilyet."


	10. Chapter 10

Josephine always found it difficult to sleep in unfamiliar beds. Somehow, even when asleep, she knew she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Add to that the anxiety of what to do with Kirkwall. Of course, Varric was right. Varric is always right, and is also wildly handsome. But being right isn't the same as doing what's right.

It was a few hours before sunrise when she awoke again with her sheets tied up in knots around her ankles. With a huff, she untangled herself and stepped out onto the balcony.

It was a nice hotel, and Starkhaven's officers had managed to keep it relatively intact. She was given the room beside the prince's, apparently kept vacant. Security, perhaps. Or perhaps just for visiting dignitaries.

The world was still dim as she stepped out into the cold air, wrapping a robe tight around her form. Maker, what was she going to do?

"Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide."

Josephine paused at the soft, whispering voice, and stepped backwards, halfway into her room.

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

She leaned forward again, and peered onto the neighboring balcony. There knelt the prince, in the dim, predawn light, murmuring prayers. He was alone, dressed simply in cotton trousers and a linen shirt, his hair mussed. Josephine bit her lip and grasped the curtain behind her to better hide herself. Of course, giving the curtain even the smallest tug brought the curtain rod down with the sound of a bell's chime as it hit the floor.

(I know, that sounds like something out of a romantic comedy, the clumsy heroine trope, but it absolutely happened, exactly like that. Don't let Josephine tell you any differently.)

Sebastian hopped quickly to his feet, body tense, eyes wide. Upon spotting Josephine, his shoulders sagged. "Lady Montilyet."

"Highness... I-I just... Maker, I am so sorry." She padded barefoot out onto the cold marble of the balcony, watching the rod roll across her room.

"I'll have someone fix it in the morning," he answered with a sigh, leaning on the balcony rail.

They were on different balconies, separated by a sixty foot drop to the street below. Josephine hesitated, then crossed to the edge of her own balcony, closer to his. "You cannot sleep either?"

He hesitated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. One hand self-consciously did up the top few buttons on his shirt. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown. And it's terribly uncomfortable to sleep in."

Was that a joke? She smiled weakly and rested her hand on the rail. "Haven't you a red velvet cushion to leave it on at night? Under glass, perhaps?"

He chuckled softly, then raked his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it into place. "Now there's an idea. I'll have a crown keeper crafted straight away." He looked back over at her, "You're not thinking of tying bed sheets together and making an escape into the night, are you?"

Josephine shrugged with a little smile, "You did give me the idea. Can't be that difficult."

Maker, those blue eyes remained fixed on her, twinkling with amusement. He sighed, looking away again. "I apologize if I was short with you earlier. I have to-... I don't know." He rubbed his face with a hand. "Sometimes... I don't know." He sounded exhausted, weary, and lost.

"No one is making any of this easy for you, I can imagine," Josephine answered. "Leading a nation. Always needing to appear strong, in control. It must wear on you."

"I wasn't meant for any of this, you know." His hand fell back to the rail as he stood tall. "I had two older brothers who trained for running a kingdom. I had the same classes, of course, but no one cared if I didn't pay attention. Lachlan, he was supposed to be here, not me. And Evander. He had a military mind." He smiled again, wryly. "I only had a mind for troublemaking."

"You've changed quite a bit from your youth."

"Not so much. I'm sure many in the Inquisition think I'm just making trouble here." Sebastian motioned with a hand to the streets below. "Still every bit as brash today as I was at thirteen."

Her brows pulled together as she watched him. Less guarded, less paranoid, here on the balcony in the dark. "Does it matter a great deal to you? What the Inquisition thinks of you?"

His gaze flitted to her, briefly, then his lashes shadowed his eyes again. "What matters is what the Maker thinks of me. That I do His work. Enact His will. The Herald has to see that."

Josephine watched him a few moments, wrapping the robe a bit tighter. The wall was going back up. The window, open so briefly, was closing. Besides, was it so terrible that she wanted to see that smile again? "Tell me about Elthina."

He lifted his head, a brief expression of surprise on his face. It slowly turned into a sad smile, and he told her. He spoke of her warmth, her understanding, her patience. He told her of his time with the Chantry, learning to calm his temper, finding peace with the Maker.

She told him about Haven, of the Herald, of the faithful. She told him about her father, who shared Elthina's patience. She told him about the time she was able to outmaneuver assassins with a few strongly worded letters, and that made him laugh. He told her about his own brushes with danger. His stories were embellished with wide eyes and gesticulations as he told her about a dragon he helped slay with Hawke, and she laughed.

It was when the sun began to creep over the horizon when Josephine realized she'd been speaking to him for ages, with no mention of the war or the Inquisition. The both of them were leaning over the balcony rails towards one another, chatting away. Like friends.

Sebastian let out a hiss as he noticed the brightening sky. "The Dansemes wanted breakfast with me this morning. I'm grateful for the excuse to dodge it, my lady." He flashed her a grin.

She chuckled and shook her head, "Perhaps it is a good thing I only know the sisters by reputation."

"Vipers?"

"That is what they say."

"Entirely true. Best not give them the opportunity to strike."

Josephine giggled, "Why on earth are they with you? Do you trust them?"

The prince's smile turned sad again. "I don't trust any of them. Not a one."

She blinked in surprise. "Then why-"

"Because I need them." He rubbed his chin and stood straight, eyes on her. "What of you, Lady Montilyet? Can I trust you?"

Her voice was soft when she finally answered him after a thoughtful pause. "I would like to say yes, but I don't think either of us knows the other well enough for me to make a promise like that, your Highness."

It was his turn to wear an expression of surprise. Silly how a thing like honesty could get such a reaction, but Sebastian was no doubt used to being lied to. Used to not trusting anyone, despite how much they insist that they can be trusted. He scanned the city for a quiet moment. "Well. That's something easily remedied." He stood a bit taller. "Dine with me tomorrow. Or..." he motioned to the sun creeping over the market square. "I suppose I should say this evening."

Her shoulders tensed as earlier anxieties crept back into her muscles. "You will want my assessment. And our troops."

"No. Well. Yes. That is-..." He grimaced, shifting from foot to foot. "I _need_ them, but I want-..." Another wince at his own words. He squared his shoulders and tried once more, "I would like your company. This..." He motioned towards her with a helpless expression. "This is the closest to normal I've felt in months. Dinner. Then business. Normalcy, then diplomacy. Is that fair?"

Varric insisted he was a good man. He was right, of course, but it certainly was nice to see a hint of that good man at last. "Most fair, your Highness."

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but turned at the sound of someone outside his door. A knock, a muffled voice. He gave her an apologetic wince, "I've kept you too long, my lady. Good morning."

He slipped quickly away, back into his room, and Josephine watched, full of hope and blissfully unaware that those would be the last words they would exchange.

* * *

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Didn't she just put her head on the pillow? Ten minutes ago?

"Lady Montilyet!"

Josephine rolled over onto her back with a groan and squinted out at the morning light. More than ten minutes. Two hours perhaps.

Thumps on her door again, and a muffled voice she didn't recognise. "Lady Monilyet!"

She hauled herself from the comfortable bed, wrapped herself up in a robe and answered the door. Before her stood Sebastian's guard, the boring looking one from the garden. He looked both grim and apologetic.

"My lady," a quick bow. "Your carriage is ready."

"My what?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stood a bit straighter.

"The prince thanks you for your visit but requests that you leave immediately."

"What?" Josephine asked again. Her sleepy brain was still a few paces behind the conversation. "But last night-"

The guard raised a brow.

She cleared her throat, "I was under the impression his highness wished me to remain."

The guard, who Josephine gradually remembered was named Warren, gave her a blank look and shook his head. "Your carriage is ready," he repeated. "The prince thanks you for your visit but requests you leave immediately."

"Why?"

"I don't question his highness' orders, my lady. I can carry your things, if you like."

Josephine scowled at him. This wasn't right. She stepped away from the door and into her shoes. "I would like very much to speak to him. At once." She strode out into the hall to find that Warren was not alone. Two more guards, large ones, were with him.

"His highness wants you to leave, my lady." Warren stepped past her and picked up her valise. "We will escort you."

Something happened. Between the time they spoke and now, something had happened. Josephine stood in the hall in her bedclothes, robe, and fine slippers, scowling at each of the guards. "So not a request at all, then."

"I suppose not, my lady."

They ushered her with quiet, polite instance out to her carriage, where she found her own Inquisition soldiers equally mystified over their sudden eviction. None of them had seen the prince, and not one of them knew why they were being so suddenly evicted. Her valise was placed atop the carriage, and a small compliment of Starkhaven soldiers led them to the gate.

Josephine opened the carriage door and leaned out when they passed the Starkhaven command center, in the old guild hall. If only she could speak to him. See him. This was a mistake. One of his advisors was trying to get rid of her while he was distracted. Morning light sliced through the open doors, illuminating several figures within, huddled over papers and plans on a table.

Josephine sucked in a breath and called out, "Your highness!"

The man in white armor looked up, and their eyes met. Sebastian's jaw tightened as he watched her carriage roll by, and turned his attention back to the table. He certainly looked like he hadn't slept, nor had he shaved. He looked drawn, haggard, angry, and a moment later she couldn't see him at all as the carriage moved on, past the gates, and out of camp all together.

* * *

"So he did kick you out."

Josephine scowls and shakes her head, "Something is wrong. You're right, I think he's being manipulated. He doesn't trust a one of them, but one of them must have said something to convince him to kick us out. I can't imagine what, we got on so well. And he seems to be a great supporter of the Inquisition."

I sigh and squint up at the sky. Must be nearly noon now, and we've made no headway at all. Bringing in my ringer did squat. "I think we're out of time."

"I think so, too, yes." Ruffles leans against her carriage. "If I could only talk to him..."

Donnic shakes his head. "He never wanted to talk to anyone."

"Which is _weird_ , right?" I pivot to look up at Donnic. "I don't care what the missus says, Don, he's not boring Choir Boy. He can't have changed that much. Something else-"

"Look."

The three of us turn our gazes up, where Cole stands atop the carriage, the bow still slung over his back. A long spindly arm points at the horizon. "Old trees, new form. New purpose."

The hell is he on about? Days like this I hate being short. Donnic half climbs up onto the carriage and curses in alarm. "Trebuchets. A battering ram. Andraste's ass, he's got siege equipment."

Well, shit. Shit! "Where the hell did he get-" Not important now. "How far out?"

Donnic shakes his head and climbs down. "He'll have it in the gates within an hour."

Shit! "We won't get back to Kirkwall by then!" I spin to Josephine, "Tell me you have ravens."

Josephine still looks a bit stunned, but she dashes to the back to her carriage, "Of course I have ravens!" A whole compartment at the back of the wagon opens like a wardrobe to reveal empty perches. Feathers and bird shit cover the bottom of the compartment. Josephine stares wide eyed at the complete and utter lack of ravens. She even closes the doors, and opens it back up again. Still empty.

"Good thing you like music, Ruffles. You've been played like a fiddle." But by whom? Not Sebastian. It can't be.

She closes the doors again and hangs her head, muttering to herself in Antivan. Finally, she stands tall again. "Right. Take the horses."

I turn to look, and Cole is already sitting on the back of one of her two chestnut mares. No. Noooo, not horses. "But... you need them to pull-"

Ruffles shakes her head and steps towards one of her guards, "Unharness them. You'll have to ride bareback," she adds, looking at me.

I grimace at the horse. Damn it all, I really don't want to have to resort to this. No part of the dwarven body was built for horseback riding. Especially not the sensitive bits. I always liked to say no where is worth going that you can't get to on foot. Getting dragged across Thedas with the Inquisitor still had the benefit of roads and carriages stuffed with camping gear. "But..." For a guy who comes up with shit for a living, I'm having a hard time coming up with an excuse here. Or an alternative. All I'm doing is losing us time. "But... horses."

"Varric." She gives me a look I'm used to getting from my mother. "If you want to get back in Kirkwall in time to warn them, you are going to put yourself on that horse. We will find another way home. We have the luxury of time."

Donnic is already on the back of the second horse, "You can ride with Cole. Try not to fall off, and keep up." With a snap of the reigns, he's already gone.

Cole offers me his hand. I take it, and he hauls me up. I make a few... adjustments, then grasp the horse about the neck. Then, we move, following Donnic at a brisk, painful pace. I hate this. I hate this so much.

I hate that now I can see the trebuchets, too. I hate leaving Josephine in the middle of the road, forced to walk to the nearest village in her fine shoes and bedclothes. I hate not knowing how to stop this, I hate that I've failed in stopping this. I hate that I couldn't get through to Sebastian. I hate that Hawke couldn't be here. That Anders started this. That Bartrand started this. That I started this.

Cole slips an arm around me, and I was barely aware I was starting to slip too far to the side, in danger of falling off completely.

"It isn't too late," he whispers in my ear.

I grip the horse's neck tighter, sit up a bit straighter, and nod to the kid. We've got horses. We can get back home before Starkhaven can even load those damn trebuchets. The people of Kirkwall, Aveline and the rest. We can still save them.


	11. Chapter 11

I don't know if it was the silence of the ride giving me time to think, or the growing discomfort of horse riding, but my earlier despair started to turn into hope, and that hope slowly transformed in anger. With every thump of the hooves, it drove deeper and harder into my brain. Like a knife. _How dare he?_

He had me fooled, didn't he? I honestly never really _liked_ the guy, but I didn't hate him either. He was inoffensive. He was boring. He was milk. He wasn't a guy you'd spend time with willingly. Hawke liked him because Hawke liked everybody, so I put up with the guy. But now? Now?

He's trying to steal _my_ city. I don't care if he's got Andraste herself whispering into his asshole. Nobody steals _my_ city.

By the time we slip in through our slim secret side entrance to the city, hidden in the shade of two pawn shops, Donnic is nowhere in sight. Run off to warn the missus, no doubt.

I slide off the mare with a grunt and manage not to fall on my ass when I hit the ground. I adjust my bits, tender from the ride, then start sprinting towards the barricade. If Donnic is warning the guard captain, that leaves me to warn everyone else. Shit, we don't even have a plan. A big army with siege equipment? I guess the tactic here would be 'fall back to a defensible position.' Which is where? Is there a defensible position?

Y'know what, that's not my job. What I can do is get these kids off the wall. They'll be the first ones to die.

I weave in between the streets, following the barricade, shouting up at the Kirkwall forces. A siege is coming. Get down. Fall back. Run for the Keep. They look confused, but do as I say. The Keep is as good a place as any to regroup and plan the next move, right? Shit, I hope I'm right.

We get to the largest section of wall, the one with the door, and word has travelled faster than my short legs. There's only one guy here, sitting up on a ledge at the top of the wall, scanning in a slow circle along the horizon. His arm is tucked close to his side under his cloak, and it isn't until he looks down at me do I recognize him.

Zevran's expression is grim. He points to the south. "I had a thought..."

I shake my head, "Not now, Crow, we gotta move. Starkhaven is mounting a final assault, with all the bells and whistles. You need help getting down? Kid, help him down."

Cole nods once and pulls himself up the ladder. Zevran taps his lips with a finger, brow wrinkled up in thought. "Yes, the others mentioned something about the battering rams and so forth before leaving the injured Zevran here all alone." He flashes Cole a quick grin, and slowly makes his way down the ladder, wincing all the way. Cole climbs down the opposite side, helping. His hands pass through the rungs, half carrying the elf.

"Right," I exhale when the both of them are safe on the ground. "Get to the Keep. Aveline can figure out what we do from there."

I turn and run again, breathing hard. I can hear shouting now, beyond the wall. Commands. Getting organized. Zevran manages to keep up with Cole's help, and soon we're at the Keep. I spot Aveline at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by a small compliment of city guards and Donnic. She looks paler than usual, pacing in a small circle.

I jog up to them. "Please tell me you have a plan."

One of her men, standing close to her, I can see now that he's got blood all over him. And a big gash in his arm. And a blood trail leading off towards Lowtown. My brow knits up. What the hell happened now?

Aveline stops her pacing and looks down at me. "The Carta is making a push north."

There's this terrible sound that for a moment I am convinced is my soul being crushed. But no, it's this clang, this crunch. I don't know what it is, if it's the battering ram on the barricade somewhere or someone testing out a trebuchet or ballista. But it was loud. And close.

The sound echoes through the streets, and Aveline's words echo in my head. The Carta is making a push north. Now, of all times. Starkhaven from the north, Carta from the south. That can mean only one thing.

They are working together to bring Kirkwall down.

And under this much force? Kirkwall will fall. And Aveline knows it. We all know it.

"We must evacuate," Donnic says to her. "Get everyone to the Undercity, and get them out. Use the tunnels to the Gallows, if you must-"

"The Gallows?" Aveline shakes her head. "Then what? The Carta won't have abandoned the Gallows, and even if they have, they will have taken every ship. We'd be stranded there. Civilians would stand a better chance against Starkhaven than Carta. Keep them safe and surrender."

"Starkhaven is allied with Carta!" I shout. "We aren't surrendering to them!"

Another clang. Somewhere a boom. I think I felt the ground shake.

"If we surrender, they will kill you, Aveline," Donnic shakes his head, jaw tight.

"If we surrender, more lives will be spared." She meets his gaze. "I am not going to lead these men into a massacre."

"This is Kirkwall, Aveline." Another clang. Shouting. I turn to look towards the barricade and pull Bianca into my arms. "They won't go down without a fight. They won't surrender. Not to him. Not to the Carta." I glance back at her. "And every guard in Kirkwall would sooner die fighting than see you hanged." I take a few steps away from them. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'd rather take on some of these Starkhaven bastards first. Feels a little more personal."

I don't wait for a response. I run for the barricade, where I hear more banging. More clanging. The wall goes on for blocks, stretched between houses that have been boarded up as well. Every person in Kirkwall pitched in to build it in a hurry. Using whatever they could find. All in an attempt to save themselves and hold off the inevitable. And for a precious and short amount of time, it worked.

Today? That's all over. That cobbled together illusion of hope and safety falls today.

I pass by Hawke's old place, and let my fingers trail along the stone wall. I duck down another darkened thoroughfare. Just down there is where Bartand and I decided to try our talents at busking when we were kids, and I was a fair bit better than him. Turn down here, and slip down that alley, and that's where Bianca and I used to meet in the dark, hidden from view but not from moonlight.

"Where are you going?" Cole asks in a low voice. He's still close behind me. He's still got that bow I gave him strapped to his back.

Another clang. More shouts, in rhythm. A countdown. Another clang. The crashing sound of splintering wood. The low thumping of many footfalls. They've broken through somewhere.

"Kid, we aren't going to win this one. You need to be alive to help people." I weave through the streets, following the barricade, looking for where they got through. "You should help with getting people to safety, until the battle is over." I stop, breathing hard, stepping back as I watch a platoon of Starkhaven soldiers sprint along the street, a block or so away. Even if they are working with the Carta, Starkhaven won't let innocents die.

"There's so much pain here," Cole says. He leans over and places a hand on the center of my chest. "I can help. Don't send me away."

I stare up at him, at those pale eyes. Hawke is gone. Bartrand is gone. Bianca-... All I have right now is this weird kid. And he wants to stick with me when everyone else left. Shit. I swallow, then nod slowly, patting his hand. "Okay, Kid. Okay."

He gives me one of his whispery little smiles. "No one is going to leave," he says, then slips past me into the sunlight.


End file.
